The Never Saga
by VampricFaeryGirl
Summary: "All children, except one, grow up." Even Neverland has rules. What happens when those rules are broken? - In this tale the dark side of Neverland and the forever child, Peter Pan, clash with the newest lost girl and her two brothers. She'll do anything to save her brothers and break free of Neverland.
1. Prologue: We Need A Wendy

**Prologue: We Need A Wendy**

In the night there was always a fire. A bonfire in the Star-sprout Clearing burned dim that night, but it had the strangest gathering of the age. Lorelei from Mermaid Lagoon had traded her tail to attend the meeting. Gnash the Gremlin came from the Devouring Swamps, Flora the gnome from the Bloom Fields, Raza of the Gem Golems from the Glittering East Towers, and Dorn Stonecutter came from the Labyrinth Mountain. The fairy queen had sent Blinker in her place. Tigerlily had come in place of her father, the chief. Mr. Smee represented for Pirate Cove. In a circle they crouched close and waited for Blinker to start.

Blinker was small even for a fairy. She glowed faint blue. She was visible out only when she floated above the yellow-gold of the flames in the path of the twirling grey smoke. Those with keen eyes could see her hair was cut short and her clothes were baggy—difficult to determine whether she was girl or boy or fat or thin. But her neck was slender as were her bare ankles and wrists. She carried with her a scroll with the seal of her queen.

The language of fairies was spoken with sounds of chimes, soft bells, and twinkling, so there were few who could understand it. Tigerlily had spent the most time in the company of fairies—including the traitor Tinker Bell—and she volunteered to translate.

Tigerlily wore her long black hair in one long braid over her shoulder. The band around her head was a woven braid of dark animal skin. She wore her tan hide summer clothes, which left her arms and legs bare. Any skin that showed, save her face, was decorated in tattoos. There were thick bands and the shapes of thorns, black and burgundy, with murders of crows and flowing rivers. Tigerlily's skin was dark, red in tone, but her eyes were bright lavender. Tonight was not the first time she'd spoken for her people and the peoples of Neverland.

Chimes sounded as Blinker read the scroll.

"The fairy queen is aware of what is happening to Neverland," Tigerlily translated. "The seasons are strange. The plants are tired from the long summers. The boy does not let them sleep. The queen does not have the power to oppose him. She is sick."

Blinker chimed angrily, her blue glow touched with rouge.

"She is poisoned," Tigerlily corrected.

The bonfire and the crowd stirred. They whispered their concerns. Tigerlily raised her hand and they quieted.

"Neverland cannot die," Tigerlily continued to translate. "But Neverland can be twisted and it can hurt the children that this place was born for. The fairy queen will do everything she can to help, but she needs us, the people of Neverland, to join hands to save our world."

Blinker rolled the scroll. She fluttered to the ground and rested her wings next to Tigerlily's feet.

"The seas have been strange," Mr. Smee added. A pale ragged cloth was tied around his hand. His fingers were calloused from centuries of labour. "Rough. Stormy. The fish aren't anywhere. We're starving. The Captain has docked for a week straight now. He hasn't done that before. Ever."

 _The sea folk are hiding_ , Lorelei signed with her hands. _They are afraid of the surface. They know it was in the air that we lost our voices_.

"The Bloom Fields are withering," Flora cried. Her tears were bigger than her body. She was larger than Blinker, but not taller than Tigerlily's hip. "It's so dry and hot. Three decades of summer."

Gnash growled through his hooked teeth. "The Swamps are drying up as well." His voice was deep and rough. His long limbs were folded uncomfortable in the small space between Flora crying on his left and Raza's hard gem skin on his right.

"The animals are wild," Tigerlily added solemnly. "They too have lost their voices. They wander and kill without thought. Food is scarcer by the day."

"He's gone too far," Raza said, her voice echoing from inside her body.

"What else could you expect from a child?" Mr. Smee asked. He spat on the ground by his feet.

"A child must always be the master of Neverland," Tigerlily warned, her eyes burning hot on the pirate who had once been her enemy. "Peter Pan was the right choice."

The crowd gasped at the mention of his name. Flora cried more. The ground around her was muddy.

"Does the fairy queen have a solution?" Raza demanded. Her skin was orange by the fire's glow. Only traces of the hints of green and pale pink showed at the corners of her skin.

Blinker nodded. She reached into a pouch at her side and pulled out a scroll twice the length of her body. She handed the scroll to Tigerlily.

Tigerlily unrolled the thin paper and read the enlarged fairy lettering. "She offers two impossible choices."

"Kill the boy," Mr. Smee guessed. "That would be the first impossible choice." He stood and scratched the graying hair under his red cap. "The Captain would be all too happy to do it—if the boy wasn't bloody _immortal_ —but I know all of you, in your heart of hearts, still love the boy. You think he can be saved."

"He's Pan," Flora whimpered with wide eyes. Her comically large ears drooped. "He's always made the children happy and safe."

Gnash slammed a clawed hand down. "He is a coward. After all this time he doesn't know the truth of Neverland."

"What's our other choice?" Raza asked.

Tigerlily closed her eyes and sat with the flat of her feet touching. She rested her weary head on her hand, elbow pointed into her leg. "Neverland has rules," she said.

"We can't…" Raza's gem skin rattled.

"Impossible," Gnash growled.

"It's too dangerous!" Flora moaned.

"It is impossible," Smee agreed. "No one from Neverland can break even one rule. It can't be done."

"Not by us," Tigerlily agreed. "We need a Wendy."

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 **AUTHOR: If you've read my other stories you know I tend to be long-winded. This story is going to have shorter chapters. Each chapter won't be much longer than this (1,000 words or so).**

 **This prologue was inspired by the always amazing _The Neverending Story_.**

 **Reviews are welcome.**


	2. The Dreamer in the Attic

_**Chapter 1: The Dreamer in the Attic**_

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London was swallowed in storm. Lola Dasher imagined from her window that the careful cars on the streets four stories below were boats. The streetlights were lanterns floating on waves or lighthouses scattered along a canal. She sat by the windowsill on a sturdy chestnut chest. Her knees were bent, her feet flat on the chest, with her sketchbook relaxed on her thighs. Her back leaned against a forgotten wardrobe. A lamp her mother had called too ugly for the sitting area (due to the frills of the shade) was her drawing light. Her pencil was new and sharpened for the first time that morning, having reduced her previous—and favourite—pencil to the length of a fingernail. The pages of her sketchbook were littered with everything from doodles to what her youngest brother, Mason, called masterpieces. Mostly she had a collection of unfinished sketches. She had considered completing her last drawing when the wind tilted the rain and she was inspired to draw what she saw out her window.

On the page she drew river and the boats. In the black sky the drunk moon was swollen and sitting low. She traced drifting lanterns and a lighthouse at the highest point of the river. The lanterns became spiked fish with wide mouths swallowing orbs of light. The townhouses became shadowy caves. On a jutting rock she drew a mermaid luring the boats, lips parted with a song. In the cave she drew the tail of a serpent trailing through a sandy shore.

The attic was Lola's favourite place. It was crowded and there were corners and tunnels. Her mother found the disorder so disheartening that she only visited to discard something she didn't need but couldn't throw away. Her father had never been in the attic and likely didn't know it existed. Jenson's vision was poor in dark spaces. He only came into the attic when he needed to find Lola. Mason sometimes hid in the attic with her, but he was more often in his room. The attic belonged to Lola.

Lola heard two knocks, a pause, and then a third knock. Mason. At the far side of the room, Mason pulled down the Jacob's ladder and crawled into the attic. The knock pattern meant he was alone.

"Mom's in one of her moods," he said. His light brown hair was worn shaggy and his cloths baggy. He was twelve; short for his age, and skinny enough to swim in his clothing.

Lola rolled the black band from her wrist and flipped her long lavender hair into a loose bun. The shocking colour choice had very nearly killed both Mrs. and Mr. Dasher when they saw it. The dye was three days old and her father still jumped when he saw her in the morning. Her mother made a point of staring at Lola's face, avoiding looking directly at Lola's hair.

"It _is_ raining," Lola said.

The Dasher children knew since birth that their mother hated rain. Their mother had lived in London for almost eighteen years, but she complained like it was her first time every time. She would hear the stillness and stand perfectly straight until the rain started. She would throw up her hands and sigh. It was like rain was unnatural. Mrs. Dasher was born, a dry place in southern Alberta, Canada. She had come to England on a post-university graduation trip, met her future husband in a pub, and went home. Their cross-ocean relationship exhausted them both and they couldn't bear a day without exchanging some contact. In the end, since she had only a low-income job and Mr. Dasher was quite comfortable as a bank manager—a traditional position in his family—she moved to London. When she got pregnant, she married Mr. Dasher and chose to stay. The man she loved more with every hour. The rain she liked less and less. Lola couldn't tell the difference between her mother's accent and her own, but her friends had known from Mrs. Dasher's first syllable.

Lola and her brothers had visited Canada three times. Other than nosebleeds from dry air, the climate was unnoticeable. They drove north to Banff, bought maple syrup, tried Beaver Tails (pastry fried in oil and battered with cinnamon), and took a gondola up the mountains. The skiing was fine—Lola tolerated the heights by tapping into her courage reserves—and her brothers were begging for black diamond slopes by the end of the first day. By their third trip Jenson was allowed to do the blue on his own, but never the black diamond.

Mrs. Dasher was an Olympic athlete on the slopes. She claimed she wasn't all that great, yet she was poised like a carefully etched portrait with every slight swerve. Her ski poles were her scepters. Her toque was her crown. The red in her cheeks from stinging wind was a sign she had conquered.

It was the only time their mother let herself seem adventurous. When they returned to London she was herself again. She scolded Lola for not having her future decided. She praised Jenson for his climbing scores in school. Mason was pressured into spending more time sitting still. He couldn't help his adventurous spirit. Lola couldn't help that she daydreamed. Their passion rarely impressed their mother.

Lola remembered when she was nine. She was shy and unsure about showing her picture of clouds and mountains. Her mother said the clouds were pretty. Lola had never been more proud. It was her mother than had shown Lola's drawings to her father. It was her father who bought Lola her first sketchbook. At first her mother had been happy Lola's hobby was tame. It grew into more than a hobby. She never went anywhere without her sketchbook. She drew in class. She drew on the bus. She drew late at night and lost track of the hours.

If Lola drew portraits or maybe still life Mrs. Dasher would have ignored the hobby. But Lola drew other worlds. She drew what she saw and she saw more in cracks and windowpanes and worlds in raindrops than she could ever see in a bowl of fruit. Lola's bookshelves and floor were piled with novels and short story anthologies rich with fantasy and supernatural. She read anything that would take her far from her own skin. Mrs. Dasher had once or twice pretended to misplace one of Jenson's _Collection of Brain Teasers_ or _Histories of the World_ in Lola's stacks. Lola read the history books—skimmed, really—but she loudly announced when she brought the _Brain Teasers_ to Jenson's room.

The truth was, Mrs. Dasher didn't want her seventeen-year-old daughter to graduate school without knowing what to do next. She was afraid Lola be left behind while her friends became surgeons and teachers and businesswomen. Mrs. Dasher wanted Lola to grow up.

Of course, if she'd known who would knock on Lola's window that night, Mrs. Dasher would have remembered to be careful what she wished for.

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 **AUTHOR: Sorry for the slow chapter, the next will be more exciting, promise!**

 **PS Just so you know, Reader, I'm not from London or the UK. If you notice Lola and her brothers displaying different speech patterns from UK natives, that's why. Try to ignore it. This is a story about Neverland anyway.**

 **Reviews are welcome. Thank you.**


	3. Stalking Shadows

_**Chapter 2: Stalking Shadows**_

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Lola turned seventeen one week before she flew away. For Mrs. Dasher it was dreaded, for Mr. Dasher confusing, and for Lola's brothers it was the day they dipped into the maple syrup reserves for breakfast and had cake after dinner. It was late in October. Lola was in school most of the day. Her friends hugged her and congratulated her on being alive.

Lola was not a rebellious girl. The dyeing of her hair on her birthday was the riskiest thing she'd ever done. She never wore mini skirts. She didn't wear lavish jewelry. She didn't wear heavy make-up. She did the chores she was assigned with few complaints—dishes on Mondays, Thursdays, and Sundays, sweep the floors on Tuesdays and Fridays, and clean her (shared) bathroom on Sunday—even when she had had a sudden urge to sketch instead. She was an average student. While equations required effort— _lots_ of it—she consistently accomplished good scores. Jenson scored higher—perfect or nearly perfect—Lola knew, logically, she was doing fine. But she never bragged about her scores and she only showed results to her parents if they demanded it. She knew Jenson was giddily the better student.

When Lola was a girl she would grab her father's leg when the sun was high. She would cling and watch where the light hit hardest. By following the light she could find where the shadows were strongest. Her eyes followed the people that walked by these strong shadow places. When they were close enough, the dark silhouettes would wriggle and try to flee from the people they resembled.

Once Lola was at the park, age seven. Her mother was wiping Jenson's scraped knees, picking pebbles from his shins. Her father stood at the end of the slide as she came down. She went up and down. Up and down. Then she went to the swings, at the same time Big Ben in the distance announced to all it was noon. Lola swung until her feet were above her head. Her eyes looked over and behind her.

On the ground her shadow mirrored her. She watched it expand and shrink. The chains of the swing moved farther and then closer to their dark imitation over the playground pebbles. Lola reached her farthest from the earth. Her eyes found her shadow-self. Her shadow kicked out from the swing and dashed away. Lola screamed and lost her balance. She fell forward, landing on her fleeing shadow-self. Her knees stung. Her legs ached. But she grabbed the ground, rock and dust deep under her small nails. She was sure she caught her shadow.

Her mother warned her never to go that high again. Her father laughed when she told him about her shadow and that she had to catch it. His shadow laughed with him. Lola kept her shadow close after that. She was terrified to go high enough for her shadow to escape. In the short breath of time her shadow separated from her, she knew she was going to die.

Lola watched the shadows of strangers when she went out. Sometimes out of the corner of her eye, on sunburned days, the shadows would reach for freedom. Once or twice she pretended to lose her balance to knock a person into the shelter of a building's shadow. Large shadows, like those attached to buildings, were heavy. They trapped the feather-light shadows of humans. Lola had failed to trap a fleeing shadow many times. She studied the faces of those she couldn't help. She read obituaries with the image of those faces. Within a day, a week, a month, they were always there. Lola preferred the skies that rained. Rain made shadows relaxed and sleepy. They stayed on rainy days.

Lola thought she would dedicate her life to stalking shadows—because the guilt of not watching kept her awake at night. October that year changed her. It was on her birthday that she first noticed the unusual shadow. She'd gotten off her bus after school and was in the middle of a crosswalk. The change in the light overhead drew her eyes.

The size and shape of it suggested youth. Or a short, fidgety adult. The shadow leaped over other shadows. The arms spread out, legs together, and the shadow spun in circles. Lola knew it was unattached. No long tendrils connected it to anything. She couldn't find a bird or a plane or anything in the sky that it followed. Nothing on the ground could move through the air as confidently. Lola forgot where she was going, where she was, and stared. She paused in the middle of the road. Cars started to honk. Her schoolbag dropped from her shoulder. The shadow dropped, was still, and then…the shadow noticed her. He waved.

Taken up by a wild breeze, the shadow twirled beyond the street. Lola picked up her bag, ignored the shouts out car windows questioning her health, and chased it. It moved with arms and legs out, his body arranged in an 'x'. She decided it was a boy. His hair was wild, sticking up at odd angles. Small rounded shapes poked out from his clothes—leaves, she discovered, as they would fall and change into fully coloured gold and red and orange when they dropped from him.

She chased the boy's shadow for five minutes. The boy waved at her again and then went veered into the sun like Icarus. The yellow orb blinded her long enough for him to disappear.

It happened again two days later. She was on a lazy bike ride with her friends when the boy's shadow started flying beside her on the ground. He got ahead of her easily, even when she increased her speed. He dove into the river. He was playing with her. Finding her and ditching her.

The next day when he appeared on her way to school, she ignored him. The shadow boy waved. She turned her head away. The shadows had never tried to follow her before.

His shape walked beside her shadow until they reached her bus stop. He waved his arms and kicked his feet. He circled around her head. The bus arrived. He knew it would take her away.

The boy's shadow knelt on the ground beside her. He poked her shadow. She felt it. She flinched. He clapped his hands together. She backed away. He grabbed her shadow by the ponytail and yanked. Lola was jerked sideways. She planted her feet.

"Go away!" she shouted. "I'm not playing with you!"

Heads turned. Others pretended not to notice Lola shaking a fist at empty space.

The boy hovered, hands at his sides. Her bus lurched at a stop sign at the corner down the street. She looked away from the boy's shadow for a blink and he was gone again.

The following day she walked closely to heavy shadows. She closed her eyes when light flickered. She wanted to be ready, but not obvious. If she were boring, maybe the strange shadow would lose interest in his game.

She fooled herself. She didn't see him that day. She relaxed. She opened the attic window and drew his shape from memory. The damp evening air was easier to breathe. The sun sank behind the rooftops. Jenson knocked four times fast to warn her that their parents were calling for her. She closed her sketchbook and dashed out of the attic. After helping her father understand abbreviations he'd received in a text (he was trying to be modern) she returned to the attic.

Her sketchbook was open. The image of the boy's shadow was missing. She flipped through and other pages were torn out. In the corner of an incomplete depiction of a crow atop a merry crone's shoulders, was a note. The letters were uneven, thin. It was the writing of the wrong hand—a child's writing.

 _I will come back for your stories_.

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 ** _AUTHOR:_ Reviews are welcome.**


	4. The Guiding Star

_**Chapter 3: The Guiding Star**_

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"Maybe it was a ghost." Mason said it with awe. He revered ghost stories.

Lola hugged her favourite stuffed animal—a dog that was more grizzly bear in shape with a felt red tongue sewn out from the black-string mouth. "It was a shadow."

Lola and her brothers were huddled in Mason's room. Lola had called a meeting, which Jenson had reluctantly joined only when she allowed him to bring his study cards. She had promised to test him after the meeting.

Mason room was average size, but the mess devoured the space making it small. He had a single, ceiling-to-floor bookshelf, but other than a few kick knacks and five books, it was empty. It sometimes was home to his video game collection, but usually he piled the games on the floor. He had a short table with a drawer—which contained batteries new, old, and uncertain—where a small TV sat. His drawers were cracked open, sleeves escaping over the edges. A trail of abandoned socks and shorts led to the closet. There were empty hangers and bins carrying forgotten toys shoved inside. His bed was unmade. Lola straightened out the navy sheets at on edge and sat with her feet curled under her. Jenson made use of the worn chair by Mason's cluttered and stained desk.

"Lola, shadows don't move on their own," Jenson said. He was annoyingly practical of late. It exaggerated the physical traits he shared with their mother. The same dark hair with gentle curls. His nose crinkled on the left side and his stormy ocean eyes narrowed. It was their mother's trademarked expression of disbelief.

"That's why it was a _ghost_ ," Mason insisted.

Jenson frowned. He discarded his study cards on the desk. "Why would a ghost care about Lola?"

"Thanks," Lola said sarcastically with an exaggerated eye roll.

"He stole your drawings," Jenson reminded her sternly. "You really want that kind of attention?"

She squeezed her bear-dog, Nana. It was a gift from their Nana before she passed. Lola shook her head once. "He's like some little kid. He wanted me to play with him."

"What's with that message?" Jenson crossed her arms and leaned back in the swivel chair. " _I will come back for your stories_?"

"A ghost would say that," Mason said.

Lola tossed a pillow at Mason's head. He laughed and tossed it back. Lola dodged and it landed on the bed behind her.

"Are you sure you didn't have a mental break and tear the drawings out yourself?" Jenson's expression was serious.

Lola grabbed the pillow behind her and threw it. He jerked the chair back, hitting the desk, but caught the pillow. Mason handed Lola a second pillow.

"Seriously?" Lola threw the second pillow. Nana tumbled to the floor. "I thought you believed me."

Jenson blocked the second pillow with the first. He couldn't look her in the eye. "When we were kids." He shoved the pillows from his lap. "Shadows don't move on their own. If it wasn't you"—he shook his head—"maybe it was a burglar."

Mason raised a brow. "A sketchbook burglar?"

Lola stood. "You've seen it too."

Jenson didn't look at her. He didn't watch ghost hunting shows or supernatural documentaries. He observed scientific explanation. He was rational. He was growing up.

"The obituaries—the tripping step—Nana?" Each instance Lola said with more accusation, more disappointment.

Lola had told her brothers what happened to the people who lost their shadows. Mason was convinced that when the shadows detached they were becoming ghosts. Jenson once told her that maybe like how dogs can smell when someone's sick, Lola had an extra sense. He had believed she saw _something_.

It was on the stairs to the Underground that Lola noticed how free shadows would congregate. It was her theory that when shadows detached they didn't know they couldn't return. The shadows of adults would pass into other shadows and never again resemble the form they once had. The shadows of children would get lost. Instead of flying as far away as they could, they found the places people frequent. Their small shadows hands begged to be noticed. On the stairs they would grab the shadows of living children. The children would trip when their shadows were caught. The shadow children always released their prey. They would raise arms and cheer amongst themselves. The victory of being noticed was the only way to conquer their fear of being ignored.

Nana was health was dwindling in her last years. She had been a woman who started long conversations with strangers. She had no secrets. She indulged fantasies. Lola had shown Nana her drawings of mermaid lagoons and unicorn knights and dragon hordes, because Nana liked those best. Nana only showed her grandchildren a mournful frown on two occasions.

The first was when Mrs. Dasher told Lola not to bother Nana with her sketches. Nana had been in the hospital the day after a shattering fall. Nana told Lola to always share her imagination and that she was never bothered.

The second time she frowned was when she found Mason looking out the window late one evening. He was six. His eyes saw the world and were too excited to blink. Lola was beside him at the window. Her parents were out on date night. Jenson named the constellations he'd memorized. Nana sat on the other side of Mason and asked him what was his favourite star.

"That guiding star," Mason said. "That's how you go to Neverland."

Jenson came to the window. "Which one is the guiding star? The north star?"

Lola pointed to the same twinkling star that Mason had. "It's the one that shines the brightest when the night is darkest."

Nana lifted Mason from the window. She pointed a steady finger at his nose. Her eyes welled. "Do not ever follow that star," she said. "Neverland isn't for you."

"Neverland isn't a real place, Nana," Jenson said confidently. "They made it up."

Nana eased slowly into a kitchen chair. "It's real. It's a place before heaven."

Jenson squinted at the sky but he didn't see a guiding star. Lola helped Mason onto a chair and then sat next to Nana.

"When children die," Nana explained, "they are afraid to leave. They can't return to their bodies, but they don't know where to move on. They are lost."

"The guiding star," Lola guessed, "it shows them where to go?"

Nana smiled sadly. "They see it, yes, and they know it is where they should go, but that isn't why they go." Nana folded her shaking fingers around a steaming teacup. "There is a spirit…of sorts…a playful creature who is the master of Neverland. He comes to the ghosts of children and plays with them. He flies with them to Neverland. There they live a hundred thousand lives and never get old. They play until they aren't afraid anymore. Then, with that star, they go." Nana's hands stilled. "My mother called it the Heaven Star. Her grandmother taught described it as the second star to the right. She couldn't remember it without saying those words." She chuckled quietly. "I supposed you will tell your children that's it's named the Guiding Star. The name of a thing doesn't change it's meaning. It only gives you a piece of it to hold."

They never spoke of it again with Nana. But even after she died the Dasher children would remember the guiding star—and Nana's story—when they stargazed. Lola had spied Jenson mapping the night and demanding the guiding star to show itself. Mason lost sight of it when he was eleven. Lola found it every night.

"Maybe you need to grow up, Lola."

Jenson's cold words woke her from her memory. Lola picked up Nana the dog and stepped heavily to the doorway. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, one hand on the doorknob.

"You used to believe me," she accused.

"Why don't you fly away to Neverland and prove me wrong then," Jenson shouted.

"Maybe I will," she shouted back.

"You're crazy." Jenson fisted his hands. "There's no shadows. No sketchbook burglar. No guiding star. I'm telling mom and dad everything."

Lola turned sharply. "Don't you dare, Jenson!"

"You're seeing things that aren't there." Jenson shoved the chair away and stood. His study cards spilled onto the floor. "You said yourself that you're scared this thing could hurt you. If it's your own mind hurting you—then you don't know what's best for you."

Lola stormed into the room, messy piles parting away from her. She pointed a stern finger at his nose. "You shut up. Don't say a word to mom or dad. This is my mess and you don't get a say in it."

"I'm doing the right thing," Jenson said quietly. His posture was solid. His eyes unflinching.

Lola stomped from the room and slammed the door. She climbed the Jacob's ladder into the attic. She tucked the string to make it harder for anyone to reach the ladder. She pushed the chestnut chest over the stair space.

She covered her mouth with a forgotten Christmas cushion and screamed. The sound was muffled, but it didn't quiet her anger. She let herself drop by the open window. Her head fell into her hands. She combed back across her scalp. She was angry. Jenson was planning to betray her trust. This was a secret she had shared with them. _How could he?_

Pressure built behind her eyes. She rubbed her temples. Tears tumbled over her eyelids. Her eyelashes soaked. She rolled onto her side and made her arm her pillow. She didn't want to come down from the attic ever again. She wished she'd thought to bring a snack. Maybe she could crawl out the window and then climb in and out for food? It was a childish plan. She felt like a child under the disappointed glares of adults. Why would she want to grow up if that meant being like Jenson or her mom? She didn't want to stop believing the things she saw—the good and the bad. They belonged to her.

Over her the light flickered from the window. Lola traced the shape the window made on the floor. Standing on the window frame was a shadow.

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 **AUTHOR: Sorry this one is a little longer, but hey this is super short compared to my usual! I will try to keep them closer to 1,000 words in the future.**

 **Reviews are welcome.**


	5. The Boy Who Dreamed of Dreamers

**Chapter 4: The Boy Who Dreamed of Dreamers**

There was a boy standing on the windowsill. His orange hair was like a bird's nest caught on fire. His cheeks and nose were a flurry of freckles. His grin was a cross of extraordinary confidence and the promise of laughter. His clothes were hidden under a vest of green leaves, a belt of vines around his waist and over his shoulder. A small knife with a hilt made of shells was tied to his belt. Acorns and deep red berries peeked between the many-coloured leaves that hung from his belt. He was more branch than boy.

The boy's leg pointed forward and an unfelt breeze seemed to carry him over Lola's head. He perched atop a pile of cardboard boxes. Lola knew inside those boxes were her grandfather's old things—mostly clothes, some pictures—and that those boxes weren't sturdy enough to support a boy of his age. Was he weightless?

The boy was younger than her—younger than Jenson but older than Mason. The boy was tall and skinny—another inescapable comparison to a tree. He couldn't be human.

"Are you real?" Lola asked.

The boy's head swung back, he hugged his sides, and laughed. His legs kicked up into the air. The boxes didn't wiggle. He floated over them.

"You're flying." Lola crouched to have a better look at the gap between the boxes and the boy.

The boy's feet planted on the floor. His fists were on his hips. "Well, what do you think?"

Lola's hand jumped to her heart. He had spoken. She couldn't have _imagined_ him speaking—she was sure she'd never imagine a twig of a boy asking such an odd question.

He rose off the floor and twirled once in the air. "What do you think?" he asked again.

"Think of what?" Lola sat down. If she hadn't she thought she might faint.

"Of me, stupid," the boy said. He grinned. "Don't worry about using big words. I am very clever for my age."

"How old are you?"

"Young," he answered. "I'm a boy."

"I already guessed your gender," Lola said. "But I suppose with that face that could've been presumptuous." Sarcasm gave her voice the appearance of calm. She had never had trouble believing her own sight before now. "Are you thirteen? Fourteen? Younger than that?"

"I've never cared much for numbers," he said with a careless wave of his hand.

"You don't know your age?"

"I know I'm young," he said with a laugh. "What else is there to know?"

"Do you know your name?"

He crossed his legs and arms. There was two feet between him and the floor. "I'm not stupid." He frowned. "But before I say my name, tell me one thing." His body hovered closer.

Lola pressed her pack against the wardrobe. The boy's body rotated in the air. His head and neck stretched forward while his body floated horizontally behind him. He pursed his lips, widened one eye and narrowed the other. His face was like a cartoon. Just like his laugh, he exaggerated his expressions.

"Have you seen my shadow?" he asked.

Lola looked at the boy's spiky hair. They moved the same. "That was your shadow!" Lola pushed the boy back and stood. "Your shadow has been stalking me. It pulled my hair—"

The boy placed his hands on his waist again and laughed, not waiting for her to finish. His feet wiggled. "I knew you'd seen it!" He laughed harder. "Good find, my shadow. Come on in." He waved at the window.

The shadow that had stalked her entered the window. The shadow brushed across the ground, under Lola's feet, tickling her own shadow, and then winding around the boy. He patted the shadow's shoulder and then the shadow dropped to the floor. It lined up with his feet and fell as lifeless as any mortal's shadow.

"I had to test you," the boy explained. "I only meet girls who can see my shadow." The boy curved one arm across his body and bowed. "My name is Peter Pan."

"Neverland," Lola whispered. She pressed against the wardrobe again. Why was a spirit who chaperoned dead children testing her?

"You've heard of me?" He was surprised. His feet touched the floor. His head swiveled as her paced her on all sides. He squinted. He pulled on a strand of her hair. He didn't blink when she swatted at his hand. He stared at her with pursed lips and a hand to his chin, like he was staring at a very difficult puzzle. "I know I am very, very magnificent, but this is the first time a girl has heard of me. But you do seem familiar."

"My Nana told me a story about you," Lola confessed. "She was told by her mother, and her mother told her—"

"What was her name?"

"My Nana?"

"I've never liked Nanas—your Nana's nana," Peter clarified, "what's her name?" His face was calm. His green eyes were a deep forest. The quiet outside was only a cover for the stirring life within.

"My great-great grandmother…" Lola stared up to the right, trying to stare back into her memory.

Lola hadn't studied her family tree on many occasions. She'd never met her great-great grandmother. She did, however, study Nana's wall of framed photographs. There was of a sepia-toned photo in dark wood frame that housed the only remaining evidence of Nana's grandmother. A fire once burned down her home and everything in it, save the photo and a young woman of nineteen. Nana had pointed at that photograph and named her…

"Gwendolyn Darling," Lola recalled.

Peter Pan doubled over and rubbed his temples. "Gwendolyn Darling." He repeated the name in a whisper, getting quieter and quieter with each utterance, until his lips moved without sound.

Lola watched his strange actions with a mixture of pity and curiosity. The boy's shadow did the same. Lola and the shadow looked at each other. She was confident that they both wore expressions of confusion and concern.

Peter Pan straightened suddenly, legs crossed, and floated beside Lola. He sat next to her grinning broadly.

"My name is Peter Pan," he said.

"You said that." Lola wrapped her arms around her legs. She rested her chin on her knee. "Then you asked me about my Nana's Nana's name."

"I don't remember," he said. "You haven't said your name."

"Lola Amelia Dasher," she answered.

"Lola is enough," Peter Pan said while patting her shoulder. "Lola is an odd name but I think odd suits you. You have strange hair."

Lola combed her hair back. "I dyed it. It's not normally like this."

Peter laughed. "Doesn't matter what it's _normally_ like. I like it now. The mermaids probably won't try to drown you with your hair like that. It's great camouflage."

"Mermaids?" Lola raised a brow.

"From Mermaid Lagoon." Peter stood, propping one foot on the windowsill and leaning forward. His arm stretched out the to window, his fingers wading through stars. "The place I live has a thousand dreams every minute. Anything you can imagine is there. If we follow that star we can be there and back before your parents blink!" He winked.

Lola stood and drew her gaze along the length of his arm to the stars beyond. The guiding star was the brightest she had ever seen it. It was haloed in gold and the centre was like a silver sun.

"You want to take me to Neverland?" Lola laughed. "Why me?"

"You can see shadows," Peter Pan said, his arm resting on his knee. "And you have stories." His green eyes had a new shine in them. His smile was softer. "I have seen your world through time. I have seen more adventures than stars in mine. But there are always new stories. I want to hear them all."

Lola smiled. There was something about Peter Pan that made her want to take his hand. She wanted to offer him a blanket and space on the floor beside her. She wanted to share with him the worlds she'd seen and tried to capture inside her sketchbook. He was in awe of stories and she was in awe of that.

"If I go with you to Neverland, can I go home?" Lola didn't blink. She was afraid she'd miss a lie enter his eyes.

"If you want to." He shrugged. "I don't know why anyone would want to leave."

"You did."

Peter Pan's eyes were wide. His mouth opened but he didn't speak.

"You came here," Lola said loudly. Her stomach knotted wondering what would happen if she upset a whimsical spirit. "You came for stories."

Peter Pan's eyes relaxed. He smirked. "I like clever girls. That's why I have to find you." He clapped a hand on her shoulder. There was a thick layer of dirt under his nails. "The clever ones always want to run away."

Lola looked back at the chestnut chest over the stairs. Her Nana had once told Mason to never follow the guiding star—but she hadn't warned Lola not to follow Peter Pan. She had been promised she could return…what harm could come from a quick journey to a land where there were a thousand and more living dreams?

Peter inched forward. His face was an inch from hers. There was a jungle in his eyes. The woods bearing all fairytales and lands of adventure lived inside him. She wanted to go.

"This isn't your world, Lola," Peter Pan whispered. "Come with me."

Lola heard a creak from the real world one floor below. Her head turned. Her blood boiled. She had to go.

"You're not like them." Peter Pan lips whispered close to her ear. "Why stay with people who want you to grow up and die before you've really lived? _Really lived_ , Lola."

Peter Pan stood. He took her hand. He floated up, their hands touching. She watched her hand lift. He lifted off the floor.

"The things you will see…" His eyes narrowed. "Unbelievable things."

Lola withdrew her hand. "Can my brothers come too?"


	6. Under The Coat of Clouds

**Chapter 5: Under The Coat of Clouds**

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Peter Pan laughed. "I am always surprised when I hear that question." He floated an inch outside the attic window. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go fetch them!"

"Wait for me," she said.

He crossed a finger over his heart.

Lola didn't waste a second. She shoved the chestnut chest away and threw down the Jacob's ladder. She rushed to Mason's room first. She knocked furiously until he opened the door. His hair was disheveled and he was wearing skull-and-crossbones pajama boxers. He wiped across his eye and yawned.

"Don't talk," Lola warned. "There's a magical boy upstairs who wants me to runaway to Neverland."

Mason woke up then. "Peter Pan?" he guessed.

"I'm leaving as soon as I tell Jenson."

Lola tiptoed hurriedly down the hall to Jenson's room. She knocked only twice before Jenson answered.

Jenson opened the door scowling. "I heard you knocking on Mason's—"

"You wanted me to fly to Neverland and I am. Tonight. Mason's going with me." She waved her hand behind her. "Peter Pan is upstairs waiting for us."

Jenson touched his forehead and groaned. "Lo! You've lost it. Completely lost it. There's no—"

"If that's what you really think you won't be afraid to see for yourself," she challenged. She didn't wait for a response. She went back to the Jacob's ladder.

Lola didn't have to wait. She reached the attic with both Mason and Jenson a foot behind her. Mason had grabbed a shirt from his room and was popping it over his head when he saw Peter Pan. He tripped and almost fell down. Jenson stared with his jaw dragging.

"The older one," Peter Pan said, "are you sure you want him?"

Lola giggled nervously. "You both see him."

"He's a floating bush with a grin," Mason said. "He's hard to miss."

"He's…flying…" Jenson shuffled towards the window.

"Peter said—"

"Pan is good," Peter Pan corrected. "I prefer Pan now."

"Sorry— _Pan_ said we can go to Neverland and back before Mom and Dad blink," she pitched excitedly. "You can't tell me you want to say no. Not to a land where you can see and touch the stuff of dreams."

Jenson shook his head. He stood between his siblings and crossed his arms. "If we go there, who's to say we won't get hurt—or die?"

"No one dies in Neverland," Pan promised. "With me, you'll only have fun."

Mason stepped onto the windowsill. "Should I bring shoes?" Mason looked down at Pan's bare feet. "No. Right. I'm ready to go."

Lola stepped up beside Mason. "This is better than a dream."

"I'm having a nightmare," Jenson said exhaustedly. "I can't let this barmy plan happen un-chaperoned." He stepped between them on the windowsill. "If it turns out we fall instead of flying, I'm talking to St. Peter about holding you back a few years."

Lola touched Jenson's shoulder. "Deal."

Pan reached into a small pouch tied into his vine-belt. He drew his hand out and in his palm was glittering golden dust. He flattened his hand and blew the dust on the three of them.

"Fairy dust," Pan said.

Pan looped backward in the air. He continued floating back, waving them towards him once. "Don't think about it. Fly."

Lola closed her eyes. Her legs were shaking.

Mason tossed himself out the window. His arms went up and his body followed. He shouted in celebration. He shook his body until he figured out how to copy Pan's loops.

"This is amazing!" Mason laughed hysterical. "I'm flying! You have to try this!"

"I can't jump," Lola whimpered. "You have to pull me out."

Pan put his hands around her waist. "You asked for it."

Pan pulled her out the window. She screamed. She waited for gravity to claim her. The fall never came. She opened her eyes. Pan kept his hands around her waist. She smiled at him. He spun around with her and then released her, shooting off. She was a ballerina on the wind.

Jenson was too practical to jump. He walked forward until his feet lost traction. He was imbalanced at first. His head and feet switched. Lola and Mason had to position him right side up.

"First time flyers stay close to me," Pan ordered. "We go as high as we can. We go as fast as we can."

Pan linked his fingers through Lola's. "You have to hold onto me or you'll disappear. Have them hold onto you."

Lola offered Mason her other hand. Jenson grabbed tight to both her ankles. Pan then drifted closer to her, putting an arm around her waist.

Pan's speed picked up. Lola and her brothers found that the will to move was what steered their flight. Jenson felt the force of speed and the bite of cold air dragging over his skin. He had to think very hard about going faster otherwise his hands would've slipped of his sister's ankles. Mason held onto Lola with both hands. Sometimes his feet would push out and he'd fight to wiggle his body back into line. Lola had no problems with Pan guiding her.

They flew through the clouds. The graying puffs were cool and wet like rushing by the spray of a lawn sprinkler. They weren't wet enough to soak their clothes but Jenson and Mason shivered. They cleared the cloud layer like a whale leaping from the ocean. The night above the clouds was silent except for a haunting humming.

That's when the race began. Peter heaved them forward. The Dasher children felt their brains dragging backward. Their skin wanted to peel off. The air passed by too quickly to breath. Sparkles appeared in their vision. The night was bright was stars—brighter with each second. There were more stars than sky. The coolness of the clouds was replaced with heat that warmed their blood. Their skin itched. Their eyes closed to hide from the dryness of speed. With stars and planets and giant turtles with cities on their backs zooming in and out of sight, the Dashers weren't sure if they'd passed out and were imagining things or they'd flown past the edge of the universe.

Just when Lola was sure her stomach would throw up out of her throat, they stopped. Lola opened her eyes and looked behind her. Mason and Jenson were looking at her. Mason laughed, relieved to have survived. Jenson's hands were shaking from the strength it had taken to hold on.

"There," Peter whispered to Lola. He released her waist and put his hands behind his head. "The possible impossible."

Lola and her brothers descended slowly. Under a stretch of dark navy were more clouds. They held out their arms and separated. They drifted down side by side. The clouds, this time, were soft and warm. The clouds stuck to their arms (they brushed off the parts that stuck) and smelled sugary. In a moment they had passed through.

Under the sugar clouds was a large island. There was only sea around it as far as the eye could see. There were forests on all sides of the island, there was a mountain range, a dessert of deep orange, a field of diamond with tall glittering towers, and a wide cove busy with ships. Lola saw something new each time her eyes went over the brightly coloured island. She had a gut feeling that the island could never be fully seen.

"Neverland," the Dashers said at once. Mason and Lola laughed. Jenson blushed. He would never doubt Lola again. How could he with an entire island of evidence?

Pan flew ahead. He cupped his hands, kicked out his legs and cawed like some tropical bird, baiting adventure.

"Welcome, my lost girl and lost boys," Pan said, "to Neverland."

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 **AUTHOR: Reviews are welcome.**


	7. The Lost Ones

**Chapter 6: The Lost Ones**

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"I didn't imagine it so big." Flying above the island of Neverland, Lola could wrap her arms around it. The closer she got the larger the island became.

"Neverland grows," Pan said. "Look away. Blink. It'll be twice the size."

"A growing island," Jenson echoed in awe of it. "Are there a lot of people?"

Pan circled them with his hands supporting his head. He treated the sky like his personal hammock. "There aren't a lot of people. There are mermaids and fairies and gremlins and ghouls and folk of every kind."

"Which should we see first?" Lola faced her brothers.

"We both know _mermaids_ is at the top of your list—"

"Mason, I may be a girl but that doesn't mean—"

"You can go see the mermaids." Mason ignored her protest. "Jenson and I can hunt some gremlins and ghouls."

"We should stay together," Jenson said. His cheeks were pink. He would never admit aloud he was curious to see mermaids too.

"You need to meet the lost boys," Pan decided. "I gave them your sketches and they wanted to hear all about them."

"Next time ask before you borrow someone's drawings," Lola warned. She wanted to be angrier—she was careful about who she chose to share those images with—but Pan had provided payment. A tour of Neverland was worth a handful of unfinished sketches.

"I'll remember that." Pan winked. He arched his back, rolled, and fell.

The Dashers called out at the sudden drop—but then they heard Pan laughing. They exchanged glances—Lola terrified, Mason excited, and Jenson resigned—and then they too let go. They thought about falling. They fell. Mason cheered, his voice carried with the air rushing over him. Lola concentrated on keeping her stomach inside. She forgot to breathe several times and gasped. Jenson blinked to keep his eyes wet. The speed was drying his eyes—but he didn't dare close them. None of them wanted the ground to reach them before they were ready.

"AAAAAAAAANNND STOP!" Pan yelled.

Lola, Mason, and Jenson stretched out their arms and legs wide. Lola flapped her arms like a bird. Jenson tried to be flat and catch as much resistance as he could to slow down. The fairy dust Pan had blown over them responded to their wishes and they stopped mid-air. Then they opened their eyes.

Pan's drop had brought them to a southern point of the island. Someone had built a town of tree houses. Bridges made of spider-webs and wood linked from tree to tree. The trees were wider than townhouses and tall like skyscrapers. Doors were hinged onto the trunks at varying levels. Sticks and leaves were sewn together to make roofs and awnings. Wood was nailed around the trunks to make balconies. Most of it was uneven and rough, but it was there. It was the greatest collection of tree houses in this or any world.

The Dashers followed Pan to where he landed on a balcony. He cupped his hands around his mouth and crowed. Far off a high-pitched whistle sounded. Then another. Bridges rattled on from the other side of the tree house town. The clomping of feet neared. Children were cheering. They were chanting, "Pan."

Fifteen children stomped onto the balcony (which creaked under the new weight). Like Pan they wore leaves than clothing. Some had bright-coloured paint on their faces and arms. Half of them had shoes and that half had holes and shredded sides and soles. They wore clothes from different eras. There were four with modern dress—a baseball cap, jeans, a t-shirt with a familiar music group—that were in better shape. There were boys with long, unkempt hair. More had old-fashioned clothes. Blazers and suspenders and bow-ties, oh my.

"The lost boys," Pan introduced. "Curly, Red-tail, Hiccup, Ball-boy, Mad, Giggles, Shark and Horace."

The first row nodded their heads when Pan named them. Red-tail spun to show that he wore red bird feathers from his belt in the back. Giggles was a cherub of a boy—round pink-kissed cheeks with dark blonde curly hair. He was the shortest and missing the most teeth. Horace was the only one not smiling. He was similar to Pan in age. He wore a red bandana with his dark hair cut short. Ball-boy was clearly named after his shape. Even his limbs were more round than long. Shark had a collection of sharp stones and knifes in brown leather belts crisscrossing his torso and legs. It was unclear how Mad how earned his nickname, but his clothes were shredded and in his eyes was a threat—they probably wouldn't like him when he was angry.

Pan listed more ridiculous names—some that made the Dashers laugh and they had to stop themselves when the lost boys were offended. The boys were as young as toddlers to as old as Jenson. None were older. Lola was aware she was the oldest. She wondered if she was the oldest person on the entire island.

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 ** _AUTHOR:_ The next three chapters will be shorter and then followed by some major action.**

 **Reviews welcome.**


	8. A Sorrowful Spark

**Chapter 7: A Sorrowful Spark**

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Lola and her brothers were trapped in a circle of Lost Boys. They spoke all together, interrupting and shouting. Jenson elbowed Lola and named the accents he noticed. There were boys from every populated continent. The boys shared their favourite places—Skull Island, the Copper Dessert, the Underground, Dragon's Den Peak—and the more they spoke the less clear their accents became. Lola strained to listen to the fading differences. In less than ten minutes, the voices all shared the same accent—an echo of hers.

"Tink's house," Giggles shouted. He never ceased laughing.

The boys shut their mouths. They turned all eyes on Giggles.

"They haven't met Tinker Bell," Giggles said bashfully, his cheeks rosier than before.

"That's a great idea," Pan agreed.

The boys nodded like bobbleheads. They started chanting, "Tinker Bell." Their hands pushed and pulled the Dashers toward a bridge. They ran across single file—as the bridge was barely wide enough to fit Ball-boy. They raced across two other balconies, crossed three more bridges, and then climbed three ladders. Lola was grateful when Pan snatched her from the ladder and carried her to the top. Her palms were sweat-drenched and her legs were shaking. She'd had more than enough of heights and ladders and rope-bridges for her entire lifetime.

Pan landed her on a balcony deep in the tree canopy. The amount of leaves should've made it dark, but there were a hundred jars filled with glowing gold dust. In the centre of the balcony, atop a stack of dust-coated books, was a worn white cupboard. Branches had grown out from the tree trunk to wrap the sides of the cupboard, securing it against the tree. When Lola heard the boys reaching the balcony she noticed a small, short ding of a bell from inside the cupboard.

Pan crouched beside the white cupboard, winked at Lola, and opened the doors. "Tink. We have some new friends."

Inside the cupboard was a home. On one shelf was a chair too small for a doll. A broken mirror shard leaned in a corner. Buttons and pins littered the shelves. A twig was suspended on the bottom shelf featuring different outfits. Dresses, most of them with mini-skirts but some were ball-gown or flowing skirts. There was a table made from a leaf and twigs with a plastic hairbrush. On the top shelf was a bed, made the width of the shelf, with a small bed sheet that was sheer with the faintest hint of baby blue. On the bed was a fairy.

At first glance, she was only a light. Lola kneeled beside Peter, her nose almost touching the middle shelf. Her eyes peered through the glow and noticed a feminine body. The eyes were large—larger than the human proportion of eyes to head. Her eyes were the only part of her that didn't glow gold—and her eyes glowed blue. She had soft, rounded features with narrow arms and legs. She had a woman's hips, but her face was childlike. She had yellow skin the same shade as her yellow hair, which was styled into a shaggy pixie cut. Her short dress looked woven like a basket. The colour was mostly green, except for a few browning spots. The fairy's wings drooped behind her back, flowing over her bare feet.

"Tinker Bell, Lola," Pan introduced. "Lola, Tinker Bell."

"Hello." Lola had imagined fairies appearing in a million ways. She'd read fairytales, both the originals and the tamer, modern versions. Growing up had made her image of them less and less cute and warm. Tinker Bell was a fairy born from a little girl's daydream. Lola hadn't expected to be so thrilled finding this kind of fairy—but she was. Her eyes prickled. She was seeing something wonderfully impossible. She wanted to cry.

Tinker Bell's wings perked up. The tops were shaped like teardrops. The fairy's hands rolled into fists. Her arms were straight at her sides. She flapped her teardrop wings and zoomed forward. Lola jerked back, but not fast enough for Tinker Bell to kick her in the nose.

"Ow!" Lola grabbed her nose and stood. How was something that _small_ able to kick that _hard_? It wasn't broken, but her nose felt bruised.

"She gets jealous," Red-tail warned too late.

The lost boys crowded Tinker Bell's cupboard home. Lola's brother squeezed to the front. Jenson peeled away Lola's hand and examined her nose. He then called her a baby and promised she was fine. Lola scowled at Tinker Bell.

"How can something that cute be that rude?" she asked. "Are all fairies like that?"

"No fairy is like Tinker Bell." Pan crossed his legs and sat next to the cupboard.

Tinker Bell perched on his shoulder. Her small hand patted his cheek. She nuzzled her nose on his skin. She paced back and set her hands on her hips. High-pitched bells sounded when she opened her mouth. Pan laughed at Tinker Bell's expression of fury.

"What is she saying?" Jenson asked. The strange fairy fascinated him. He itched to take notes. He hoped Lola would draw an accurate sketch so he could properly label it later.

"She doesn't like when Pan brings girls to Neverland," Red-tail answered. "Pan brings lost girls to the Porcelain Pavilion so they's don't bother Tink."

"You understand her?" Jenson didn't want to jealous of a young boy who spoke slow and improper—but he did envy the ability to understand a fairy.

Red-tail shook his head. "Nah. Only Pan can speak fairy. But we got good at knowing the sounds she makes. That's her jealous bell."

"Pan, are you going to take me to the Porcelain Pavilion?" Lola frowned. The name suggested a prison for girls too prim and dainty to participate in the adventures of Neverland.

"Of course not," Pan said. He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Unless you want to. But there's a lot to see before that!" Pan picked up a full jar and emptied it into the pouch tied to his vine-belt.

"Pan only lets some lost ones fly," said Hiccup. His voice hitched on every odd word. He was smothered in brown freckles, grass stains and dirt smudges. His clothes were from the oldest era out of the group. The short white collar around his neck had yellowed with time. His vest was undone, all but one of the buttons missing. Where there had once been white sleeves were naked arms with red and blue bands painted from bicep to wrist. His trousers had holes and ended just above the knee. He had heavy black leather boots, missing all but one button on the right and missing only one on the left. "Wendy and her brothers."

Lola didn't know why, but that name made her heart stop. _Wendy_.

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 **AUTHOR: Reviews are welcome.**


	9. A Small Hiccup or A Big One?

**Chapter 8: A Small Hiccup or a Big One?**

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Hiccup linked his arm through Lola's and led her to the backs of the boys. Jenson and Mason were taking suggestions of which place to visit first. Mason was getting a lot of pirate-war and Native-war tossed at him. Jenson was told that caves, tunnels, and swamps had the best things to collect. Pan was half-listening to Tinker Bell protest, half-judging the locations by how many enemies he'd defeated and how many times an enemy had almost caught the marvelous him.

Hiccup put one hand on each of her arms and Lola knelt down. The boys hadn't noticed they'd separated.

"One girl, two brothers," Hiccup whispered. "The first was a long time ago. He forgets I was there—he always forgets me—but I remember. Wendy, John, and Michael. Wendy told stories. She was our mother—pretend mother. Then she wanted to leave. Wanted to grow up. He couldn't let her. He kept her. But she wouldn't tell stories anymore, so he had to find another."

"Are you saying P—"

Hiccup clapped his hand on her mouth. Her lips stung.

"He knows when you say his name," Hiccup warned. "The wind, the sky, the seasons, the trees belong to him."

Lola twined her fingers through Hiccups to free her voice and shuffled closer. "He's kidnapped girls and their brothers."

Hiccup nodded. His tiny lips quivered.

"Are they trapped in that…Porcelain place?"

He shook his head.

"Where?"

"Secret place." His voice was almost inaudible. He was an inch away from her ear and Lola had barely heard him.

Lola shook her head. She didn't want to believe she'd be lured into a spirit child's malicious trap. Pan was too whimsical. "He promised we could go home."

"He forgets," Hiccup said.

"My brothers and I can fly home with that fairy dust whenever—"

"Tink only makes it for him." Hiccup faced his back to Tink's home. Her nervously fingered the last button of his vest, twirling it in circles. "Try flying again and you'll fall. You need more."

Lola stood and looked over a dozen heads. There were a lot of jars. Too many to count. Pan would never miss one. She doubted Pan had intentionally stranded her. Maybe Hiccup was right about forgetting—maybe Pan would forget that the fairy dust he'd given them was one-time-use-only. If she asked him for more, just to return home, he'd have to say yes. The story Nana told her was about Pan spiriting-away dead children. Lola and her brothers were alive. Pan had to let them go.

A hand grabbed her head and spun her around. When her feet steadied, Pan was floating in front of her.

"What are you two up to?" Pan narrowed one eye at them.

Hiccup hid his face and didn't speak. The last vest button popped off and bounced. It hit the balcony and then dropped over the edge. It was a long way to the ground.

"The Porcelain Palace—"

"Pavilion," Jenson shouted over the boys' heads.

"Right—it's boring, right? I was asking Hiccup"—she put her arm around his neck—"if there was somewhere fun—something exciting we could do."

"Pirates," Hiccup whispered.

"Yes, pirates are cool," she agreed. "Swords. Buried treasure. Eye-patches."

"Story-teller gets first pick," Ball-boy yelled.

"Pirate war!" the lost boys cheered in unison. Their fists punched the air.

"War?" Jenson panicked. His eyes widened. "Can't we just say hello? Get a ship tour?"

"Ship tour," Pan echoed. He stroked his chin. "How about we steal a pirate ship?"

"Steal a ship!" the boys cried out together.

"That settles it." Pan set his hands on his waist. "To welcome Lola, John—"

"Jenson." The middle Dasher child hung his head. If he weren't trapped babysitting his irresponsible siblings, he would've gladly asked to be excused.

"—and Mason, we're stealing a ship!" Pan hadn't noticed the correction. He flew off the balcony and crowed.

"Get your swords, gents!" Red-tail hollered. He threw a clawed rope from his belt, attaching it to a strong branch. He gabbed the rope and swung out. Once he was off the balcony, he slid down the rope. Two other boys followed him.

The remaining dozen boys hurried down the ladders to their huts. Lola tried to find Hiccup in the mayhem, but he had vanished. Mason had followed the boys giddily. Jenson and Lola dragged their feet and climbed down cautiously. They were reluctant to go to war.

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 **AUTHOR: Next chapter, PIRATES!**

 **Reviews are welcome.**


	10. Arrr Tis Only a Game

**Chapter 9: Arrr, 'Tis Only a Game**

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As every beginning has an ending, every traveler has a home. This was never more true than for the people of Pirate Cove. While most of the townsfolk were travelers at heart, they knew someone had to maintain the supply docks and weave the ropes and repair sails. Pirate Cove had been a part of Neverland since there had been pirates—which was a date too far back to trace. With a town as old as Pirate Cove in a land that never ages, the pirates had a long time to create their safe harbour.

Pirate Cove, in some ways, bested the tree-town of the Lost Boys. The cove was long with cream sand layered with driftwood and glimmering shells. The town itself was first built under the shadow of the tall cliff that overlooked the water. The town hall fit crooked in the large cave at the base of the cliff. A long staircase was carved from the rocks from the cave to the shore where the docks jutted out to the sea. Every house doubled as a shop, passed from father to son or perhaps mother to daughter. The butcher, the baker, and the rope-maker had apartments above their shops. The seamstresses and the brewers built apartments beside their shops. The shipbuilders usually slept on their ships and on special occasions bargained or won their way into the warmer homes of bakers or seamstresses. The Cat's Crook Inn was large with high roof, open hall, and was the only place a proper meal was served in Pirate Cove. The inn's rooms were tiny, not much more than a hard bed and walls. The only good thing about the rooms is that the floors creaked and it reminded the sleeping sailors of better days at sea. Most of the town was nailed together driftwood—as Pan rarely let the builders leave the forests with fresh wood. Some walls were reinforced with iron rails at the smith's insistence (it was a way to pass the time). Buildings stood crookedly side by side with hardly enough room for a single person to pass between. Less than 300 souls were docked in Pirate Cove at any one time, and the numbers were dwindling.

When Lola stood from the top of the cliff overlooking Pirate Cove, she didn't see that the town was less than it once was. She saw the peg-legged, the colourful patches on clothes, and the swords hanging from hips, the eye-patches, parrots, cats, and singing. Out on benches enjoying the sun were men spinning their hands around ropes and women patching sails. They were singing in chorus about the perils of the sea. Perilous though the lyrics were, then men and women were laughing. Lola watched a young boy—not much older than Jenson—swabbing the deck of a ship. The name scrawled in dark letters was the _Jolly Roger_. In many ways it was the most ordinary thing she had seen in Neverland, but she was desperate to descend the cliff and walk the dirt main street. She pictured herself in the ragged skirts the seamstresses wore with a leather belt and a sword. She saw the large hats with feathers on the heads far below and wondered if they'd make one in her size.

Pan floated over the cliff and planted his feet in the face of it, staring up at the crowd looking over. "Save your energy until we're down there," he ordered, his voice deep and barking. He was pretending to be something like a general. He crossed his arms behind him and paced the air, stopping himself from smiling as the crowd turned their heads side to side following him. "Be quiet until we reach the bottom of the hill. Then, raise your swords and shout! Scream! We'll make those lily-livered seadogs shake in their silly clomping boots!"

"Yeah!" The boys shouted in unison. Mason joined. He looked at his siblings and shrugged. It was all a game anyway—why not have fun?

Jenson and Lola shared concerned expressions. The Lost Boys and Peter Pan certainly acted like it was wonderful chase, but what would happen when the children raised swords against the pirates? Lola hadn't thought there would be any grown-ups in Neverland—but there they were. Grown-ups—pirates. Lola had to trust that Pan had played this game enough to be sure the pirates would play along.

The Lost Boys hurried down the hill. Some had a hand on their swords. Some stopped to tuck in shoelaces (as no one seemed to know how to tie-shoes). Pan put his hands behind his head and floated alongside Lola and Jenson and they walked in the centre of the parade of boys.

"Do you war with the pirates often?" Lola asked.

"Sure do," Pan said was an impish grin. "We always win."

"Isn't that boring?"

Pan frowned. "Winning is fun."

Lola shook her head. "Winning all the time at a game is boring," she argued. "You haven't really won if you're opponent can never win, right? It just means the other team _lost_." She shrugged. "You didn't have to try."

Pan fiery brows curled inward. His body remained horizontal like an invisible cloud was carrying him, but the cloud was slower. He dipped lower to the ground, floating just above Lola's hip.

"Maybe if the pirates come close to winning…" Jensen scratched his scalp. "It's not boring if you always win if the other team is really tough to beat."

Pan lifted his arms from his head. "But I like winning."

"Who doesn't?" Lola smirked.

"Lola," Jensen said, elbowing her side. "He's a kid. He doesn't get it."

Lola didn't point out that Jensen was a kid too. She nodded.

"I am the cleverest boy in Neverland," Pan said sharply. His hands fisted above his hips. "There is nothing I don't get. I always get what I want."

"Is there anyone in Pirate Cove who challenges you?" Lola asked.

"Like, someone really good at swashbuckling?" Jensen teased.

Lola rolled her eyes and laughed. Jenson chuckled. Though neither would admit it, and though they pretended to find the word too young and silly, they were both excited to see swashbuckling.

"Hook."

The parade halted. The Lost Boys gasped all together. Pan didn't smile. But in his eyes was a spark, the threat of a building fire. Pan was uncharacteristically immobile. His fisted hands waited at his sides. Though his eyes focused on nothing, it was clear what his mind's eyes was seeing. Hook.

"What's Hook?" Mason shouted from the front. Somehow during the parade he'd painted his cheeks with black war paint and was wearing a necklace of acorns.

"Hook is a who," Pan answered. His feet touched the earth. He crouched. The Lost Boys moved hurriedly to circle him. They huddled like team planning their next big play.

"You'll know him," Pan warned. "He's the captain of the Jolly Roger. His coat is red, probably dyed from blood."

The Lost Boys gasped. It was rehearsed. They'd heard the story before.

"If you see Smee, the short one with the red cap, you'll know Hook is near," Pan explained in a hushed tone. "Smee is Hook's first mate and is always close by. Smee isn't scary. He's old and slow and fat. But Hook…" Pan grinned. "He's quick. When he and I fight, his sword slashes like lightning. There's no sound. Only the flash of it. He'd cut down his own men to get to me. He gave me a scar once." Pan raised his shirt. A thin white line was drawn under his ribcage. "He's pinned me a few times. But he's never gotten closer than this scar. But me"—Pan tapped the golden hilt of his small sword—"I've gotten closer."

Lola and Jensen leaned in. The Lost Boys snickered at them, but let them crouch close to their leader.

"To pay him back for his gift," Pan said, patting the cloth over his scar, "I proved once and for all who was the better swordsman. I cut off his sword hand."

The Lost Boys gasped again. Lola clasped her hands together. She cracked her knuckles nervously. She was fighting between nausea and dizzying excitement. More than once Lola had raised a wooden ruler and pretended it was a sword and she'd been slashed through and through with a plastic sword by Jensen. She wanted to see Hook and his lightning sword—but she didn't want anyone chopping off body parts. There was no way this Hook had really lost a hand. That would be more than a game.

"Then I fed Hook's hand to the great crocodile of Skull Island." Pan stood. "Hook has called me his nemesis ever since." The way Pan's eyes swelled black made one thing clear: Pan wasn't pretending about Hook.

The Lost Boys applauded. Lola held her hands tightly. Mason asked more questions about the previous pirate battles, but Lola didn't listen. She thought only of Pan's white scar and Hook's severed hand. She heard the clap of thunder and envisioned the lightning strikes of Hook's sword. She saw Pan pinned with a sword at his throat lying on the deck of a ship. She heard the seamstresses and the rope-weavers singing the songs of ghosts and wondered what the rules were of Pan's games.

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 **AUTHOR: Don't know why has this little episodes where I can't upload anything, but it does. It's picking on me and it's no fair! Hopefully it will keep working for a while so I can post a few chapters in a row.**

 **Reviews are always welcome. Thank you.**


	11. Storming Pirate Cove

**Chapter 10: Storming Pirate Cove**

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"Lost Boys, CHARGE!" Pan's command changed everything.

The Pirate Cove had been ordinary (aside from the far-from-modern dress and the numerous swords). When the Lost Boys charged over the hill the songs silenced. The seamstresses and rope-makers hauled their projects indoors. A bell was rung. At the top of the bell-tower, a man shouted three words, "PAN IS HERE!" He shouted the words over and over. Men and women rushed from building to building, either shoving young people inside or grabbing swords or ordering someone to help guard the windows. Women in big skirts opened windows and stood with scowls and homemade canon-like contraptions were pointed outward. The Lots Boys started snarling like wild animals, as the grass became sand. The lost boys descended like lions chasing hippos—but the pirates weren't going to stand there willingly clawed. There were few scared faces on either side. Pan's boys were thrilled predators. The pirates were defiant and angry.

Pan swooped down and challenged a few pirates to cross swords. He would spin them by their blades and they would fall to the ground or run away from him holding up makeshift shields out of barrel lids. They knew they couldn't beat Pan. Most of the pirates—men and women—turned their swords on the Lost Boys. They were evenly matched.

Jenson and Lola overlooked the battle from the hilltop. They couldn't believe they were witnessing a battle. The Lost Boys were laughing. The pirates were devastated. This game was one-sided.

Mason hadn't noticed. He'd been given a sword and an opponent. He'd never picked up a weapon before but was somehow ducking and dodging or slashing and snapping the sword. The pirate that faced him had a left eye-patch, from eyebrow to chin, a dark green lazily tied ascot, and a loose brass-buttoned coat.

"Mason!" Lola and Jenson took turns shouting for their brother.

"He's going to get killed," Lola said. It was enough to remind them how to move their bodies.

Jenson and Lola ran down the hill. There was an unconscious pirate with a red gash on his head with a sword lying next to him. Lola took the sword. Jenson grabbed a solid pole of driftwood from the beach. They slipped through the duels and rolled or ran from any pirate who came at them. Jenson tripped one raggedy-bearded pirate who tried to slice him in half. Lola locked swords with a red-bearded pirate but managed to swing around him. At first the pirate seemed surprised. None of the pirates reacted to Mason or Jenson, but some were distracted when they noticed her. It was obvious having a girl on Pan's side was uncommon.

Once the surprise wore off no one hesitated to attack Lola. The red-bearded pirate chased Lola as she made circles around the duelists. Mason was halfway down the main street. Jenson was moving faster than her. The sword was making Lola a greater target. Jenson wasn't a big enough threat with a wood pole—most pirates were ignoring him in favour of the Lost Boys.

Lola spun to face the red-bearded pursuer. "Catch!" She threw the sword at him. He instinctively grabbed it. She stifled a laugh. She couldn't believe that old trick had worked. It stalled him a second long enough for her to run and the pirate lost sight of her. She made her way with her eyes constantly searching for more driftwood or anything that wasn't a sword to block any potential attacks.

No one came at her. By losing the sword, the pirates couldn't care less what she did. It was only the weapon that had marked her as their enemy. Maybe it was because she was a girl—but the women pirates were fighting the lost boys with as much aggression. The lost boys swung and hopped around the women and men equally. It was only the pirates that wanted proof she was their enemy. Lola felt nauseous again. She felt wrong. This battle was wrong.

Lola reached Mason. She grabbed his arm and pushed him to the ground. The pirate fighting Mason missed a swing and tripped over the sprawled bodies of the siblings. Lola helped Mason up and put her hand over his on the sword's hilt.

"This isn't a game, Mason," Lola shouted.

"Come on, Lo," he groaned, "Loosen up."

"Look at the pirates," she shouted over the yells and zinging metal. "They're not having fun. They're actually being _attacked_."

Mason lowered his sword arm. He squinted. "They're putting on a good show."

"Don't be stupid," she scolded. "Pan is a child and he's too naïve to get it—but Mason I know you. You know better. Look around."

Mason checked over his shoulder. The doors were locked. Faces of children pressed against windows while mothers and siblings pushed them back. They were terrified.

The bell tower silenced. The air was still. A sound rose up over the voices. The Lost Boys and the pirates parted swords. They all looked up to follow the sound. A flute played. Above the battle Pan floated with crossed legs and a pan-flute close to his lips. His eyes were closed. The melody he played was like a lullaby to the Lost Boys. They smiled dreamily. The pirates shivered. Goosebumps rose on their arms. Lola felt it too. The melody was haunting. Fog drifted through the cove coating the land, rising over ankles.

"It's beautiful," Mason said. He smiled the same as the Lost Boys.

"It's creepy," Lola said. She looked around for Jenson. She saw him a few feet away. The driftwood pole sunk in his grip.

The crowd of battle parted. It was slow at first. It started close to the docks and then moved. It was like a snake parting grass. Even the Lost Boys made way. Pan opened his eyes. He tucked his flute at his side and lowered from the sky.

Over the rows of heads Lola noticed a great red hat with a white feather. The person wearing the heat was the snake in the grass. As more pirates and Lost Boys bowed away Lola's view of him cleared. The pirate wore a long red coat with gold trim and large gold buttons. The coat reminded her more of a naval officer more than a pirate. He walked with sure steps in black leather boots. A white ruffled ascot guarded his throat. He wore a black shirt underneath and a red sash. His hair was black, long, but tied back haphazardly—which was strange compared to the overall elegant composure of his appearance. His chin stumbled. His eyes were pale blue, like a sky covered in storm clouds. He raised a long sword, stopped, and pointed the tip at Pan.

"Did you miss me?" Pan asked. He drew his sword and pointed it at the scarlet-coated pirate.

The pirate tossed his hat on the porch of the closest building—a sign marked it as the Baker's. It landed perfectly on the railing, balanced and waiting. The Lost Boys breathed in at once. They had practiced this part often.

"I am quite surprised to see you, Pan," the scarlet pirate spoke calmly. He raised his right hand—except there was no hand, but a silver hook. "Usually you wait a week between raids. Perhaps you who missed me."

"I brought some friends to meet you, Hook," Pan said.

"Will you never tire of kidnapping new friends, Peter?" Hook's tone was teasing, but his eyes were ice. "Or is it that you have to replace all the friends that leave you?"

Pan raised his sword, jumped into the air, and swung at Hook. It seemed effortless when Hook blocked the graceless swing, but a few reckless flourishes later Hook stepped back. Pan was stronger. He was a child only in appearance.

The Lost Boys cheered. The battle continued. Mason charged at a pirate, forgetting Lola's words. Lola tried to break his concentration but he ignored her. She didn't have a choice. She ran for Jenson.

"I can't get Mason away, we have to go," she said.

Jenson was dazed. He smiled. "This place is amazing. I can't believe it's real."

"Real and totally not safe." Lola tugged his arm but her jerked away.

"I'm staying," he said.

"Not funny, Jenson."

Lola yanked again. Nothing. She fought the driftwood pole out of his fingers. Jenson elbowed a pirate and fought for the pirate's sword instead. Both her brothers were consumed by the pirate war.

Pan continued to swoosh around Hook and clang swords. When Hook got too close Pan would float up and play his melody. The children inside the buildings would rush the doors when the melody played. They wanted out. They smiled goofily the same way the Lost Boys did. The same way Jenson did.

The adults were struggling to fight off the Lost Boys and keep their children safely inside. Lost Boys struck the guards at the doors and ripped apart the barricades hooked onto the doors.

Lola had to do something. She couldn't rely on Jenson anymore. Mason was long gone. If she picked up a sword she knew someone would come after her. But she did find a stone. Of course.

Lola picked up the stone. She knew there could be only one target. She breathed deeply and hoped that this would be one of her better aiming days. She tossed the stone with all her arm's strength and watched it soar. The stone struck the flute and a crack split it almost in half.

Pan stared at his instrument. He twisted it in his hand. It was broken. He dropped it. Hook stomped on it the second it reached the earth. Pan searched for the enemy who'd harmed the flute. His scowled until he realized who'd thrown the stone. He drifted down and landed in front of Lola. The Lost Boys and the pirates paused.

"What's wrong?" Pan asked. "Aren't you having fun?"

"No." Lola planted her feet hard on the ground. "This isn't fun, Pan."

Pan tilted his head an inch to the right. "You don't have a sword." He grinned. "I can fix that. Tumble, pass Lola—"

"No." Lola clamped her hand over his mouth before the Lost Boy could answer him. He licked her palm and she whipped her hand back. He laughed, holding his stomach as she wiped her hand on her thigh.

"This isn't a game," Lola shouted.

"Sure it is," Pan laughed. "We're winning!"

"Stop this, Pan," she ordered, pointing a finger an inch from his nose. "Stop this right now. I want to go home."

Pan stopped laughed. His sword fell. The Lost Boys whispered wearing a wide range of appalled or confused expressions. The pirates seemed to sense the change in atmosphere and stepped away from the war-hungry children. They crossed behind Hook and the Lost Boys gathered behind Lola to face Pan. Mason and Jenson stood beside Lola, but they were as surprised as the Lost Boys.

"You _can't_ want to go home," Pan whispered.

" _Yes_ , I can." She crossed her arms.

"You just got here." Pan stepped closer to Lola. His sword hung loosely by his side, but it pointed dangerously near.

Lola remembered Jenson's warning earlier. Pan was a kid. If the pirates were his toys, than what was Lola? What would Pan do if she didn't play? She didn't want to think about her old childhood toys tossed out because she got tired of them or broke them.

"If you really don't want me to leave Neverland," Lola said slowly, "then this war is over." She stroked her chin. "And…"

Pan sheathed his sword. He was interested.

The Lost Boys, in unison, asked, "And?"

"This won't do." She exhaled exaggeratedly. "I'm not having any fun."

The pirates looked at her to each other to Hook and repeated the cycle a few times. Some of them sheathed their swords. Some of them moved to add guards to the windows and doors. Hook lowered his sword arm but didn't lower his guard. His eyes watched Lola. He was young—surprisingly young to be the leader of a whole town of pirates—some a lot older than him. Maybe it was because Pan was young. Maybe everyone that mattered in Neverland was young.

Lola recognized Mr. Smee. He was more of a jolly old fellow than a pirate. His red slouchy hat was smeared with dirt. His peppery beard was a little scraggly, but if he had some clean red fabric, shampoo, and slipped a pillow under his shirt he could be a mall Santa. He was twice Hook's age, probably a similar age to Lola's parents. Mr. Smee fetched the white-feathered wide-rimmed hat like he was a dog fetching a ball. If Smee was the dog, than the scarlet pirate was his master. Hook placed the hat smoothly on his dark head without blinking.

"There must be something more interesting than pirates," Lola mused. She paced in a circle. All eyes followed her. The end of the battle depended on her. "I suppose we could…" She paused her foot, squinted, and then shook her head. She continued her circle. "No. There must be something fun…I don't know." She stopped, spun, and placed a hand on Pan's shoulder. "You said you're clever, right?"

"The cleverest boy in Neverland," Pan agreed. His cheeks pinked. He grinned ear to ear.

"Then you should know," Lola said. She patted his shoulder and then crossed her arms. "I trust you, Pan."

Pan didn't hesitate before scooping Lola bridal-style and floating up. "Lost Boys! Return to the fort. Lola and I are going on an adventure."

"Aye aye, Pan!" The Lost Boys cheered. They saluted Pan and retreated to the hilltop and over the cliff. Mason and Jenson went along cheering not caring that their sister warned them to be careful or that she asked Pan if they could come too. Pan flew away with Lola, immediately forgetting that her brothers had been anything other than Lost Boys. And they too forgot.

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 **AUTHOR: Thanks for reading. Reviews are always welcome.**


	12. Chapter 11: Tink's Lament

**Chapter 11: Tink's Lament**

Once, a very long time ago, meetings between the Never-people were frequent. They quarreled only to pass the time and on all other occasions were wickedly merry. Tinker Bell had never been wise enough or important enough to say much at the meetings, but she didn't go for the talk. She went hoping to meet the merriest of the Never-people, the spirit of Neverland itself, the Pan. Tinker Bell couldn't remember when he first remembered her name or when the time came that she never left his side—except when he left Neverland. She did remember how she glowed as bright as the stars the first time he said her name. She knew how important names could be when the right person said the right name.

Centuries passed without the merry boy ever having a name more than Pan. When he ventured to the human's world to ferry young departed he would sometimes make up names to be called, anything to make the journey more fun. He was sometimes Crow or Shadow, sometimes Tinker Bell heard him recount the dullest of names like he was collecting precious gems. It wasn't until he met a very particular girl that he was named Peter Pan.

Wendy Darling, as most girls her age, was torn between growing up and adoring childhood. She was a natural storyteller and was naturally caring. Her mother was a woman who cared more for her attire than her children. She was a woman of society and she never left a party early—which meant she often missed her children's bedtime. Wendy took it upon herself to tuck in her brothers when her father was working late. She made friends with the nanny and the servants. She was a lonely girl and she didn't understand girls her age. They reminded her of her mother. They saw only reflections of themselves. Wendy saw other worlds; other lives reflected everywhere—except for girls her age. While they were pruning to find future husbands, she let herself look plain. If she ever found a husband she would be glad to have a family of her own, but how could she abandon her brothers? Her father, like herself, was the quiet, contemplative sort. Without her there to translate his shy actions to his sons, how would they understand his great love for them? Too often he could only express himself in a stern nod. More than most girls her age, Wendy had grown up.

But it was this very mothering nature crossed with her ability to see stories in everyday moments that first brought her trouble. Pan found her the way a ship finds land during a night at sea. Her dreams were a beacon. He could hear her calling from her sleep. She dreamed of forgetting her responsibility and going off on her own. Some nights she went off and had an ordinary life, but more often she sailed to a distant land and swam with mermaids, battled pirates, flew on the backs of dragons, and danced with fairies in starlit forests.

Tinker Bell remembered meeting Wendy Darling. Pixies can forget more easily than humans. Their small sizes made little room for memories, so they chose to keep only the most important. Tink had fooled the Lost Boys into aiming their arrows at Wendy—she called her an ugly bird. Tink smiled at the memory now. She had been jealous—her body had glowed crimson that day.

Tinker Bell remembered that day Wendy had asked to leave. What a fool she'd been. Relieved. Happy. She'd even felt that Wendy was her friend. Finally parting with Wendy felt like the first time Tinker Bell had ever liked a human. But that was the day Tinker Bell had turned grey. She hadn't the strength for colour.

"You can't leave!" Pan cried.

"Peter, I miss my father," Wendy said softly. Her small, slender fingers were folded over the baby-blue nightdress. Her hair waved over her shoulders, pressed perfectly from the braids she'd recently loosened. "I even miss my mother. I know how worried they must be. Michael and John need their parents. They deserve to grow up. As do I."

"There's so much more to do," Pan protested. He took Wendy's hands, floated up, and spun her around. "You've only seen one part of Neverland. There are bogs and castles and—"

"Peter." Wendy curled her fingers and stepped back. "You have shown me the most _wonderful_ adventures. I wouldn't trade them for the entire world, but they are done. That sort of adventure is for a child. In my heart, I know I'm finally ready." She put an arm around each of her brothers and kissed their foreheads. "It's time for us to go home."

John polished his glasses, ignoring the permanent bend in the arm. Michael hugged his teddy bear, wiping off the war paint on the fur. John and Michael held hands. Tinker Bell circled them and dusted them with magic.

Pan's knees sunk to the earth. Tears welled over his cheeks. "You can't leave me, Wendy."

Wendy's hand touched his thighs and she bent over the boy and kissed his head. "I will miss you, Peter, but I promise you will always be in my dreams." She straightened and brushed her hair back. "I have a great adventure of my own waiting for me at home."

"No."

Wendy sighed lightly and shook her head. "Peter—"

"No." The sky darkened.

"If you're that upset, why not visit me?"

"You'll forget me," Peter said. Lightning cracked the sky. Clouds billowed in wide circles, spinning, increasing speed.

"How could I ever forget Peter Pan?" Wendy set her hands on her hips. Even in her nightdress, a narrow straight slip of a thing, the edges of her hips showed. If she left Neverland, she would loose the slenderness of a girlish figure. Pan had seen it before in all the other human girls. Her hips would expand. What did the humans call it—childbearing hips? Wendy would become a real mother—and then she could never be called a child again. No adult could remember Peter Pan.

"Peter," Wendy said, her hands on the shadow of her curves, spoke softly now. "You know how I feel about you…but children are meant to grow up. I want to."

Pan touched her cheek. "What if you become a pirate? You could grow up, like they do, and you could stay. It's a—what did you call it—compromise."

Wendy placed her hand over Pan's. "I should never have come," she said.

Pan jerked his hand back. "Why not? I thought you loved Neverland! I thought you…!" His hands shook. The sky was dark purple. Hurricanes sunk a ship at sea. Waves tore at the beaches. "You have to stay." Tears spilled from his eyes. "Please, Wendy."

"I have to go," Wendy said, speaking loud now to overcome the wind. "I'm not a child anymore. But you are, Peter. You and I…Peter, we never should have met." Tears pooled in her eyes but she blinked to draw them back. "I don't regret meeting you, I only wish…that leaving wouldn't break my heart." She wiped before a single drop could touch her cheek. "I've changed and I can't change back. It's time to say goodbye."

Lightning lit trees on fire. The island rumbled. John and Michael were shaken to their knees. A gust carried Tinker Bell off some ways, but she could still hear as Wendy told Peter Pan to stop behaving like a child.

Wendy cried as Peter lifted her and made her one final promise. "You will never leave Neverland, Wendy," Pan said. "Neverland needs your stories. You're the Lost Boys' mother, remember?"

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After that day, Tinker Bell rarely left her home at the top of the Lost Boy's tree-town fort. She closed her cupboard and glowed a dim grey. Sometimes, when Pan was off on an adventure, she would hide the jars of pixie dust he'd ordered her to fill, and then she'd go the Porcelain Pavilion. The dolls would never tell Pan that Tink visited. They refused to speak ever since Wendy was first brought there.

In her glass coffin, Wendy dreamed of the adventures she could have had and remembered the stories she'd once told Pan and her brothers. Pan came to listen to her dreams when he remembered how much he missed Wendy. Tinker Bell came to see the dream that Wendy fought to keep. Tink watched Wendy rehearse it. She flew away from the impossible island and returned to London. Her father would cry and tell each of his children how worried he'd been and how happy they were home. Mrs. Darling would hug her children and tell Wendy how proud she was of her. What a wonderful woman you will be, Mrs. Darling would say. Wendy imagined walking down the street with an umbrella, on her way to mail a parcel, when she'd accidently bump a young gentleman. She imagined meeting this gentleman several times on her walks through town. She imagined him proposing. She imagined life as she aged, marriage, children, and society parties. She dreamed a wonderfully ordinary and perfectly content human life.

Tink wasn't jealous of Wendy anymore. She knew Wendy was only dreaming, and would only ever dream. On her own, Tink couldn't set Wendy free. As much as she wished it, Tink had made a vow long ago, in the moment she first could think, that she would never betray Peter Pan.

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 **AUTHOR: As seen in the prologue, not every chapter will be focused on Lola. I don't have a great history with Tinker Bell (grr, pixies are irksome) but she is important to Peter Pan. She's important.**

 **Reviews are appreciated.**


	13. The Glittering East Towers

**Chapter 12: The Glittering East Towers**

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"Where are we going?" Lola had wanted to ask the question for a while, but she'd been distracted.

Pan was carrying her so far above the ground that the giant trees that made up the Lost Boys' tree-town were like broccoli florets. She had waved the little tree-town away. Pan flew further and further away from it. She looked back once, feeling a twist in her stomach. She couldn't see the tree-town anymore and she couldn't remember why that worried her.

"I saw mermaids and dragons in your sketches," Pan said, "but I didn't see any gem golems."

Lola smiled widely. "What the hell is a gem golem?"

Pan smirked at her. He knew she was interested. He wasn't going to explain. He was confident the surprise was worth it.

Lola let herself be wowed by the land whisking by below. She saw a stretch of bog with little things poking in and out. Far off there was a mountain range with sharp pointed peaks. There was another forest, but the trees were twisted, the shadows were deep, and when Pan flew over it she heard whispering and smelled something foul and mossy. She also noticed there was a giant eye looking up through a break in the canopy.

Lola knew the destination when she saw it. At first she only noticed a distant glittering, like the sun hitting the metal of a car. Then she saw the shapes—three towers half the height of the mountains and taller than the Lost Boys' tree-town forest. The three towers were made of greenish-pink gems. The reflecting sun was almost blinding, but Lola found herself looking with no pain, no need to blink. It was the magic of Neverland, she knew, but she was amazed anyway. She'd never seen something glitter that perfectly. Pan slowed and Lola was able to make out more details. From far away the towers seemed smooth as glass, but they were rougher, with geometric cuts and edges. Gemstone bridges, first at ground level, then halfway up, and again at the top, connected the three towers. Pan landed on the top bridge connecting the middle tower and the farthest tower. Lola touched the carved handrail, carefully. It had the same rough look but it was smooth and warm to the touch. Lola spread her arms across to touch the handrails on both sides. She ran to the end of the bridge feeling the gentle warmth. She could see the whole island from the gemstone bridge. She could see the bogs they'd crossed over. She found the tiniest hint of the tree-town's treetops. She traced a hovering hand over the mountaintops. She twirled to view the sea surrounding the island. She thought she might have seen something out in the water, but it was no more than a dot.

"This is amazing," she shouted. Her voice carried up and then caught on the gems. The bridge shook slightly, and it echoed her voice. She grabbed the handrail and laughed. Scary. But it thrilled her.

Pan floated up and balanced on the handrail in front of her. He leaned forward, his orange hair brightened by the reflecting light. "Having fun?"

"Yes!" The bridge shook again with her shout. She giggled. She felt ten years younger. She wanted to shout stupid things and hear it echo. She wanted anyone on the ground to look up, confused as they listened to her crazy echoes. Just for the hell of it she did a mock yodel.

Pan joined her with a long croaking crow. His was so loud that it echoed into the nearest tower. The bridge really shook then. Lola thought she would tumble over the edge, but Pan took her hand. Together they shouted a few more crazy things. Lola tried a few of the Lost Boys' names and then a few of the most ridiculous words she'd ever heard—like bumbershoot, mollycoddle, and flibbertigibbet. Pan shouted some insults about someone named Tigerlily and Captain Hook.

Lola heard a few key words—coward being one—and she didn't want to shout anymore. She didn't know if Tigerlily was a coward, but she didn't believe Hook was. She remembered how he'd walked out. He was dressed to fight, not flee. He hadn't trembled when Pan flew down from the sky. He didn't move when Pan had put away his own sword. Lola didn't know enough to say if Hook was a villain, but he wasn't a coward. Pan seemed to be saying insults that offended him the most. It didn't matter who he was insulting.

"What is this place?" Lola asked. She spoke softly now that she'd worn out her voice.

"The Glittering East Towers," Pan answered. He landed on the bridge beside her and smiled sweetly. "Do you like it?"

Lola nodded. "My parents will have to stop bragging about me having a big imagination," she said with a snort. "The Glittering East Towers. I wish I had something to sketch it with." She leaned over the edge to admire the two other attached towers. "Are they solid or…can we go inside?"

"It's better out here," Pain said. His nose pinched. "It echoes too much inside." He frowned. "It could hurt."

"Oh." If it echoed that much outside, she wondered how much sound could be contained in three giant towers.

Pan smirked and leaned close. "Not that it bothers me," he said. "I've been in. I made all three echo at the same time."

Lola set a hand on her hip and leaned lightly on the handrail. "What were you shouting?"

"I crowed," he said unblinking.

Lola pressed her lips together. Sometimes Pan seemed like he knew everything—and then he made a face like that. It made Lola feel seventeen. Pan was a kid. Despite all he was—and the years in his eyes—he was so much younger than her. Lola kept expecting him to say more, explain more. But Pan wanted simple, and that was all he'd give.

Pan took her hands suddenly. "Step onto the railing," he ordered.

Lola frowned but she did it. Their fingers were linked and he flew in the air over the edge. Lola balanced on the narrow rail. Pan released one of her hands.

"Walk from this end to the other," Pan dared.

Lola turned and started forward, imagining the rail was a tightrope. Except a rope might've been smoother. She almost slipped a few times, but Pan was there to help her regain her centre of gravity. He knew exactly where on her back to tap, or which spot to lift up on her arm. Lola questioned if it was his years of flying that made him know exactly what to do or if this wasn't his first time helping a girl balance beam from one tower to another. She was more than halfway across when Pan let go.

"You better catch me if I fall," Lola demanded. Her palms were sweating. She forced her eyes to stay on the rail.

"Are you trying to fall?" Pan teased.

Lola wobbled but she didn't lose her footing. She'd never tried gymnastics as a little girl. She could remember joining dance, but that hadn't lasted. She was surprised she had this much balance. Maybe the air in Neverland had made her lighter.

"Not terrible, Lola," he said, "but I've seen better!"

"Compared to who?" she asked. For a moment she remembered Hiccup's warning. She remembered the name he'd said—Wendy.

Her foot slid. She teetered. She fell. Her arm shot out to grab the rail. She felt her arm scrape against the gem's surface but her fingers slipped off. She started to scream—Pan caught her. She wrapped both her arms around his neck and hugged him like a boa constrictor.

"Don't let go," she begged. She was breathless.

"Lola, you're safe," he whispered. He touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. "Stay with me. I promise you'll be happy."

Lola closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. She trusted that he wouldn't drop her, but she couldn't stop thinking about Hiccup and the name _Wendy_. Pan wanted her to stay—but what would he do if she ever wanted to leave? She felt too big in his arms. He carried her like she was weightless, but she was a head taller than him. He had the body of a fifteen-year-old kid and she…Lola knew she wasn't a kid anymore. She looked more like the pirates than she did the Lost Boys. Maybe Pan would get bored and ask her to leave. Lola opened her eyes. She'd been worried about how to leave but the truth was, she wanted to stay. What was good about going home? Seeing shadows everywhere that no one else saw? Being told she was acting like a kid like it was a bad thing? Jenson deserved to go home. Mason did. They had a lot they would miss out on. Her dad would be devastated if he never saw them again. But Lola would stay. She would convince Pan to be nicer to the pirates, and then everything would be perfect.

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 **AUTHOR: Reviews are** **appreciated.**


	14. Raza

**Chapter 13: Raza**

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Lola and Pan were flying above the Glittering East Towers hand in hand (because being carried around all the time was starting to embarrass Lola) when someone walked onto the bridge. There were no doors that led out from the towers to the bridges. The gemstone of the tower concaved with the sound of crystal chandeliers being shaken. Out from the concave shape walked a person made of the same gem material. Pan made a face at Lola—like his parents had walked in on him doing something stupid.

"Is that a gem golem?" Lola asked.

The gem golem dipped its head in response. "Hail Pan," she said. Her voice echoed from within her but the words were clear despite not having a mouth. "It has been some time since you brought a girl to our humble home."

Lola winced at the comment. Pan's chin tilted up and he looked at the gem golem like she'd spilled tomato sauce on a white shirt. Lola didn't want Pan making more enemies—one pirate arch nemesis was enough—and she was beginning to understand how to lighten Pan's mood.

"I've never seen someone made of gemstone," Lola mused excitedly, squeezing Pan's hand. "I'm having a lot of fun."

That one word snapped Pan out of his glare. He grinned at her, showing all his teeth. "Lola, this is Raza."

The gem golem Raza crossed her arms over her flat chest and dipped her head. "A true pleasure to meet you, Lola."

Pan and Lola drifted closer to the bridge. They stopped on the other side, free-floating in the air, while Raza moved to the handrail. Up close Lola could see that although most of Raza's body was a simple construction of slim crystallized shapes, she had human eyes. They were dark blue. Somehow Raza having the same irises surrounded in white with black pupils was eerie. It was like someone had cut out a perfect pair of eyes and stuck them on a craft—like googly eyes on a pet rock. She wore a thin iridescent shift over her body. It was see-through, but there was nothing to hide. Lola wondered if everyone in Neverland was a sterile as a Barbie doll.

"Are there a lot of gem golems?" Lola asked.

Raza's small laugh trickled like a waterfall. She raised her sharply pointed fingers to her chin. "A gem golem is born every time an inventor says, 'I won't give up'."

Lola looked at Pan. He was beaming. Lola looked around at the towers. "Have there always been three towers?"

"There was one in the beginning," Raza answered. "I was one of the first born. I watched this tower grow from a small stump to what you see here."

Lola wanted to ask if Raza knew what invention had inspired her existence. She thought it might be something like the wheel or the first pulley system. Lola thought of all the inventions of her modern world. "Are we talking huge inventions, or little improvements?"

Raza reached out her hand and touched Lola's arm. Emotions rushed in from the touch. She felt something shove against her chest. Defeat. She felt despair. Her eyes pricked. She couldn't breathe. She was going to cry—all because Raza had touched her. Before she could ask why Raza would do something that awful she felt something else. It was small. It was smaller than the end of a pin. But it was strong. It stabbed against the pressure in her chest. She could breath again. With one breath the feelings were gone. Lola was dizzy from the rush. She fanned herself with her hand and steadied her breathing.

"It is not the invention itself," Raza explained. "It is that feeling. Deciding not to give up when everyone and everything says that you should. That was how I was born."

Lola nodded like a bobble-head. She eyed the three towers with admiration and…maybe a little envy. If those three towers were full, she couldn't imagine all the people who had fought for someone to take their imaginations seriously. It wasn't something like the wheel. It was a feeling Lola knew. She'd never invented anything, but she knew what it was like to not be believed.

"Is your brother with you?" Raza asked.

"I have two," Lola said cheekily, "but neither of them is pocket-sized, so nope, not with me."

"Jenson," Raza said. "There is someone who would have liked to meet him."

Lola frowned and raised a brow.

"He is not fully born," Raza admitted, "but I am certain if Jenson met him that Jenson would also say, 'I will not give up'."

Lola knew that Jenson spent a lot of time hunched over his computer and their dad often asked how 'it' turned out. Had Lola ever asked? She had assumed he was doing homework—or extra credit. She had forgotten he had a creative side. She placed him in a box in her mind and didn't see he had grown out of it. There was a gem golem waiting to be born because of him. Lola couldn't let Jenson stay in Neverland.

"I don't know if Jenson will get a chance to visit before he goes home," Lola said, "but I promise, I'll tell him."

Pan's hand loosened around hers. Lola felt herself slip. His hand was all that was keeping her in the air. Most of the pixie dust had worn off her. She yelped from the sudden plunge, but Pan put an arm around her waist and laughed. Raza stared at Lola with hope. Lola knew she had to keep that promise. Raza's new baby brother depended on it.

"I'm bored of this place," Pan said.

Lola wasn't. "Would it be okay if I saw…Jenson's gem golem?"

Raza's warm expression clouded as she turned eyes away from Pan. She dipped her head. "It will take one moment to retrieve him. He is in the far tower." She raised an arm to gesture across the bridge. "My new brother is only a small gem now, but you can see Jenson's dream reflected inside. It is quite beautiful."

Lola smiled. She thought about all the books in Jenson's room. Those books were more than words on a page. They were Jenson's inspiration. Lola thought of the books in her own room. She had based a lot of her drawings on a sentence that tickled her or a word that got stuck in her head and wouldn't leave until she gave it a face.

"Lola," Pan whispered, "do you want to see a mermaid?"

Lola turned her head. Pan was an inch away, grinning darkly. Lola got the hint. Pan was bored. He wanted to move onto the next adventure. Lola's mouth opened to insist in staying, but her voice was stuck. She frowned. Raza crossed her arms and dipped her head. She looked at Pan with sadness and something like repulsion. Her eyes turned down and she faced her back to them.

"Thank you, Raza," Lola said.

"You are welcome here," Raza promised, "Come when you need us."

Lola nodded and then turned to Pan. "I've never seen a mermaid."

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 **AUTHOR: Reviews are welcome.**


	15. Scales Before Skin

**Chapter 14: Scales Before Skin**

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Lola had imagined mermaids a dozen different ways. Were they the simple half-human half-fish with a curiosity for human knick-knacks? Were they more monster than animal? Were they human-sized or smaller or bigger? She had drawn them with sharp teeth and she'd drawn them with sweet smiles. She'd used tropical fish patterns and she'd used shark fins. Strangely the number one question she was curious to answer was whether or not they wore clothing. Was it seashells optional?

Mermaid Lagoon was on the absolute opposite side of the island, the farthest from the tree-town and Pirate Cove. The waters were shallow and the brilliant turquoise water was smooth enough to be painted on. The narrow inlet was rocky and there were the decaying remains of half a ship, the side torn wide open. The lagoon was circled with trees and their hanging branches hung low, weeping into the water. Red mangrove trees grew behind, around, and in some parts through the half-sunk ship.

Pan landed inside the ship. Parts of the floor were strong enough to hold them up without water rising through. Pan left Lola inside the hull of the cracked ship and he flew around the edges where long reeds grew. He collected a handful. He landed in the middle of the lagoon where smoothed rock jutted out. He crossed his legs and sat. He blew into a few of the reeds, testing the sound. He took a knife from his vine belt and carved a few of the reeds, re-testing the sound after every cut.

"Sorry about your…flute," Lola said.

Pan shrugged. "I like making them."

"Still," Lola said. She didn't feel bad about stopping the Lost Boys from fighting the pirates, but she wished there was a nicer way to do it. "You make it out of reeds?"

Pan took some of the long grass and started weaving it around his gathered reeds. "Sometimes," he said. "I use whatever I want."

"Will it sound the same?"

"Of course." Pan grinned. "The clever me can make something from nothing! A simple flute is no match for me."

Lola rolled her eyes and laughed. "Of course."

"The mermaids won't know we're hear if I don't call them," Pan explained. He made some adjustments to sizing, tested the sound and adjusted more, and then smiled sweetly at the instrument. Pan was rarely the type for patience, but Lola knew if it took him all day he wouldn't give up. The little instrument was precious to him.

"Why the pan flute?" Lola asked. "Is it because it's easy to make?"

Pan threw his head back and laughed. "Lola, do you know why it's called the _pan flute_?"

Lola blinked. She thought of Raza and the other gem golems. She wasn't an instrument history buff, but she knew wind instruments, especially the simpler ones, were quite old. If her Nana's stories were true, then Pan was ancient—maybe older than every instrument she could name. "You invented it?"

Pan beamed. "I went to your world," he said. "I heard your music. I wanted my own." He held up his reed-made pan flute like a trophy.

"Do you have a gem golem?" she asked.

"Of course I do," Pan said. "Raza."

Lola thought of the way Raza had spoken. If Pan was the reason she was alive, why did she look at him hopelessly? Maybe she could tell that his precious instrument had been broken. But Pan hadn't given up on it. He'd made a new one easily and he seemed to love it like it were made of pure gold. Why did Raza seem disappointed in her creator?

Pan played his remade flute. The sound was the same as the one Lola had broken. It was either because Pan was really as good as he thought he was or he was magical enough to make anything sound right. Lola stepped carefully, watching the water rise between the boards. She got on her knees and managed to shuffle to where the end of the boards met the water. She leaned out and put her hand in the water. It was cool and refreshing next to the warm air surrounding the lagoon.

Lola couldn't see her hand. She couldn't see even half an inch into the water. She didn't know how deep the lagoon was. By definition she knew lagoons were supposed to be shallow, like an outdoor pool, but she couldn't see the bottom. Was it deeper than her height or would her head pop out if she fell in? Pan had been playing the flute for a few minutes. With water as thick as paint she wondered if the mermaids were already in the lagoon, swimming in circles around them.

Pan attached his flute to his belt. "Come up," he ordered sweetly. "Lola wants to meet you."

The top of a head rose out from the water. Water rippled as her head rose up. She looked like the traditional half-woman half-fish that so many cartoons depicted. She had long red hair and pale skin with the slightest tinge of rose tone. She had gills on her neck and when she hoisted herself onto a rock beside Pan, she was wearing not two giant seashells but a shirt woven from seaweed and hundreds of tiny shells. Her scales were the same blood red as her hair. Most of the scales started around her hips, but her spine was covered in a thin line of scales that stretched along the back of her shoulders and formed a thin line down her arms. The backs of her hands were scaled but her fingernails and the backs of her hands were human flesh. She had pale blue eyes and her lips were the same red as her scales—but definitely human lips. She had a narrow face and she was beautiful.

"Pan," she said in an equally beautiful voice. "We heard you battled Captain Hook today, but you ran away in the middle of the fight."

Pan scowled. "I didn't run away! It was boring." He slouched and put his head in his hand. "Lola wanted to see the island."

"My!" said a second mermaid.

Lola jerked back when she realized the second mermaid was less than a foot away. This mermaid was similar, with the same youthful appearance, but she was green. Her eyes were pale green, as was her hair, but her scales were darker. The tone of her skin was grey-green. She had a high ponytail and the hair-tie was made of fish bones, clamshells, and something stringy. She rested her elbows on the boards and watched Lola with her head tilted. Her tail flipped up. It was long with wide fins that glistened, not from the wetness, but because they had a natural shine. It reminded Lola of Raza's gem skin.

"This one is so _old_ ," the green mermaid said.

Lola scowled and crossed her arms. "I'm not old. I'm seventeen."

"We are seven hundred," said a third mermaid. This one was soft pink with red eyes. She was the most beautiful of the three, but she couldn't be older than twenty. The mermaids, like most creatures in Neverland, were young in appearance but old in age.

"Well," the red one said, flourishing a hand. "What do you think?"

Lola raised a brow. "What?"

"You've seen not one but three mermaids now," the pink one said. She hoisted herself on a second rock beside Pan. "Are we not the most beautiful creatures you've ever seen?"

Lola blushed. "You are beautiful."

"We are," Green agreed. She laid down her head on her arms. She wasn't looking away from Lola. "You aren't ugly."

Lola squinted. She had a feeling this was the closest to a compliment they'd ever given a human girl. She didn't thank them.

"Now that your girl has seen mermaids," Pink said, "what should we do with her?" She took the end of her hair and brushed through. Within a minute her hair had dried. Her hair had gentle waves and was as lush and shiny as any shampoo commercial model. There were bracelets dangling from her wrists. One was a circlet of human teeth.

"Should we drown her?" asked a fourth mermaid.

Lola stood and stepped deeper into the hull of the ship. A mermaid with royal blue scales and soft dark blue curls had sneakily placed herself on the other side. This one had a grey-blue tone to her skin and her eyes were silver. Now the green mermaid had blocked off her escape to the right and the royal blue was covering the left.

"Do you usually drown people?" Lola asked nervously.

"Pirates," Blue answered. She looked at her sister mermaids and they giggled. "But we rarely meet human girls. We can't help our curiosity."

"How does a girl look when she drowns?" Pink mused. She was lying on her stomach, chin on her hands, tail flipped up in the air. Drowning was as casual a topic as talking about the weather. "How well can a human girl swim? We've never drowned a human girl before."

"Mermaids hate pirates," Pan said. "They don't like men either."

"But we have always loved Pan," Red said. She fluttered her eyelashes at and smiled adoringly. She twisted a necklace of black pearls around her fingers like she was playing cat's cradle.

"I'm a boy," Pan said. There was agitation in his tone. He didn't like the way the mermaid had put him in the same category as _men_. "The mermaids have tried to drown a few Lost Boys."

Lola's hand rose to her throat as she thought of Mason and Jenson. They were running wild with the Lost Boys. Were they still dazed like they'd been in Pirate Cove? It had taken one distraction and she'd left them behind with war crazy children.

"It bores us," Red said. "Pirates are much better." She grinned and touched a finger to her lips. "We wish we could get Captain Hook in the water." She winked at her sisters and they giggled again.

"We could trade our voices for legs," Green said, biting her lower lip. "The Jolly Rodger is well worth a tour with her captain, if only for a short while."

"An hour or two would do," Blue agreed. "Any longer and our legs won't let us walk away."

Pan scowled. "Hook is a coward." He pulled out his knife again and scratched lines across the rock. "He knows the crocodile is after him."

"Not lately," Blue said with pursed lips and wide eyes. "The crocodile has been caged."

Pan jumped to his feet. "Hook caged the croc?"

Pink pouted her lips. "It wasn't him."

Pan placed his fists on his hips. "Who is helping that codfish?"

The mermaids giggled. Blue moved back from the ship and swam to the jutting rocks. Lola relaxed. The mermaids weren't interested in drowning her. She eyed the green one sourly. Green continued to watch with her tilted head. Her pale green lips were pressed into a cheeky smile.

"Were you with Pan during the pirate battle?" Green asked.

"Yes." Lola looked at Pan. He was talking to the pink mermaid. He had his sword out and he was re-enacting something—storytelling. The red mermaid and the blue joined. They wowed and cheered. Lola had seen this act with the Lost Boys. Their responses were rehearsed.

"What did you think of Captain Hook?"

Lola got on her knees but kept two feet between her and the edge of the water. "He was…kind of elegant for a pirate. I expected a peg leg—a parrot."

"He's handsome," Green said with a long sigh. "He's the only man who can match that boy in a fight."

"They fight a lot," Lola said quietly.

Green nodded and sighed again. "Shameful. How can a pirate expect to win against a god?"

"A god?" Lola leaned forward and lowered her voice. "You're saying Pa—"

Green clapped a hand over Lola's mouth. "Don't say his name," she warned. There was no sweetness in her tone. Her eyes were hard. "He knows if you say it." Green dropped her hand when Lola nodded. "Did you speak with Captain Hook?"

Lola shook her head.

"Don't tell that boy, but it was us." Green took Lola's hand. "We caged the crocodile."

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 **AUTHOR: Reviews are appreciated.**


	16. Even Neverland Has Rules

**Chapter 15: Even Neverland Has Rules**

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"We caged the crocodile," the green mermaid said. "Captain Hook is more useful without that foolish distraction."

Lola opened her mouth and her brow wrinkled. Pan had said mermaids hated pirates. Blue had said they drowned them. Lola looked at the mermaids surrounding Pan. They were focusing his attention so that Green could talk to Lola alone. They were working with his arch nemesis behind his back.

"I thought you were his friends," Lola said. "He might be overzealous but he's not a bad kid."

Green's eyes widened sorrowfully. "We know. He guides the souls of dead children. He has always been a protector. _He is Neverland_. We have lived here happily since time began." She squeezed Lola's hand. "But that happiness has ended. He is lost. It happened because Wendy wanted to leave."

Lola shuffled closer. "One of the Lost Boys told me that name. He"—she nodded toward Pan—"brought her here. Wendy. Like he did me."

"She was the first," Green agreed. "The boy who never grows up fell in love. That is forbidden."

Lola sat back on her legs. The sinking ship creaked. She looked across the lagoon to see Pan rising up with his arms behind his head. He had the appearance of a vacationer on a beach chair. "Why is it forbidden?"

Green loosened her hold on Lola. "He has loved many things. It is a fun love. Easy. Children can love many things. Children cannot be _in_ love."

"When Wendy tried to leave…it broke his heart," Lola guessed. She knew the feeling of being rejected by a crush. Her tongue would tumble out phrases that sounded corny and out of order. She'd been friend-zoned enough to get how heartbreak makes a child grow up. "How long has it been?"

"Centuries by a mortal's count." Green released Lola's hand and then hoisted up to sit beside her on the boards. The wood sunk an inch into the water. Green combed her ponytail until it dried magically within a minute. "The boy has tried to bring other storytellers to ease the pain in his heart. But they all want to grow up eventually. Living children always do."

Lola ran her hands through her hair. "He really does kidnap girls and their brothers."

"He wants to replace Wendy," Green said sadly, "but that can never happen."

"So, he's heartbroken," she said. She crossed her arms. "So you help his arch nemesis?"

"We have to kill the boy."

Lola raised her arms and jerked back. "I am not—"

Green clapped a hand over Lola's mouth again. "He wouldn't _remain_ killed. He would begin again." She dropped her hand to Lola's shoulder. "He would forget his heartbreak. He would be the hopeful child Neverland loves."

"Have you tried talking to him?" Lola suggested. "Maybe he hasn't realized he's hurting anyone."

"Anyone who disobeys him becomes a monster or is caged." The mermaid's voice was deep and choked. Her eyes watered. A perfect pale tear rolled onto her cheek. She wiped it with her finger and it hardened, transforming into a pearl. It was imperfect, more tear-shaped than round, but it was pretty. She cupped it in her hand. "We had many sisters. They promised to bring him stories from your world—as mermaids can travel to any body of water. They wanted him to promise to never bring another living girl to Neverland. He sewed their mouths shut."

Lola placed a hand over her lips. "He—he wouldn't."

"They are too ashamed to show themselves," Green said weakly. "A mermaid is her voice. Without our voices we have only two choices, to give up our legs or give up our human halves."

Lola fisted her hands and pressed her lips together. "A mermaid without a voice has the choice to become a mute human or a fish? What kind of stupid rule is that!"

Green shrugged. "The rules of Neverland are absolute." She gently touched Lola's cheek. "But if you break one rule, the others can be broken as well. One broken rule would let us kill the immortal boy."

Before Lola could ask why the mermaids had singled her out to talk about breaking rules, the ship jerked. The creaking was followed by laughter—like a pack of hyenas.

"What the hell?" Lola stood. She moved to the edge of the open hull and peeked around the side. Behind the trees on the shore were moving shapes. They were bipeds but with low-hung heads. They crouched, laughing and snorting. There were monsters on the shore.

* * *

 **AUTHOR: Reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading!**


	17. We Must Not Look at Goblin Boys

**Chapter 16: We Must Not Look at Goblin Boys**

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Pan flew over from the rocks and Green slipped into the water. Pan laughed and the creatures on the shore were silenced. Pan unsheathed his sword. "Have you come to fight me for the fair lady, you cowardly goblins?"

Lola flushed. Her? _Fair_ _lady_?

Pan flew into the trees. One of the monsters had a sword too and he raised his sword against Pan. Lola found footing on a loose board on the out-facing side of the ship. Some of the roots and branches of the red mangrove around the shipwreck were strong enough to hold her weight. She could climb it like a rock wall—but a loose board wall—and get to shore. No way was she being left in a half-sunken ship. Green grabbed her ankle when she was halfway across. Green held up a small pouch.

"Take this," Green ordered. "My tear is inside. If you ever need us, we will come. Put the tear in water."

Lola hesitated, but she was curious to talk to the mermaids again. She wasn't on board with killing Pan. But the forever child wasn't as simple as he pretended to be. It would be good to have a friend other than Pan if something happened. Lola took the pouch and thanked Green. The mermaids disappeared into the lagoon. Lola saw a tail ripple in the inlet and knew they'd gone out to the sea.

Lola reached the shore with only one splinter. She picked it out of her finger, stuck the finger her mouth for a second and swore under her breath. Pan had fought the monsters away from the lagoon. Lola ran through the trees following the sounds of swords slashing, hyena-like laughter, and Pan shouting cheeky insults.

Lola stopped when she could see them. The monsters were short, not much bigger than toddlers. They had dark green skin, long pointed ears, and upturned pink snouts. Goblins. They all had under-bites with two short tusks. Lola recognized the same mix-mash of clothing that the Lost Boys had—some decades old clothes and some pieces replaced with animal skin or plants. One of the goblins—the littlest—had dirty teddy bear tied across his back. One of the goblins was wearing old-fashioned coke-bottle-thick glasses. Half of them had shoes, and half of those only had a shoe on one foot. Their green toenails were dirty and overgrown. Their weapons were made from wood. It was only the one crossing swords with Pan that had a sword. Lola was sure it had been stolen from a pirate.

The goblins stood around Pan in a circle as they cheered on the goblin with a sword. He was the tallest of the group and he had a strange tuft of dark brown hair that was slicked back. Pan was calling the goblin slow and fat—and he was. Most of the goblins were unnaturally round compared to their impossibly thin limbs. When the goblin with the sword tripped another goblin ran in—this one carrying a spear—to take his place. Lola looked around for something to use. She knew Pan would never run away from a fight.

She noticed there were planks connecting the trees. Above her was a network of bridges high in the trees. She followed one row of planks until it reached a platform. The platform was built around three thick trees that had grown too close together. There were rope ladders hanging from the three thick trees to the ground. Lola glanced back to check on Pan. He was more than holding his own. He had cut gashes in a few of the goblins. Lola decided to climb.

It took her less than a minute to reach the platform. It wasn't sturdy. It creaked and one board flipped up when she stepped. She had to dodge it as it almost slammed up into her face. There were woven nets of leaves set up like tents. There were empty jars piled next to a small wood cupboard. It wasn't white, but it was obvious what it was. Lola opened on of the doors. Miniature doll furniture was placed on the shelves. Crooked as it was, the resemblance was impossible to miss. The goblins had tried to build a home _exactly_ like the Lost Boys' tree-town.

Lola's legs were jelly. She carefully lowered herself down. This was what Green had said. Anyone who tried to tell Pan he was wrong suffered for it. The goblin with the teddy bear on his back—he hadn't stolen it from a Lost Boy. He _was_ a Lost Boy. This was the home of the friends Pan decided were traitors.

And he was laughing at them. Lola heard him from platform. She also heard him say a name. John. Lola climbed down in a rush. She jumped when there were still five steps down. She ran out of the forest. The goblin with the stolen sword Pan had called John. Pan knew their names. He _knew_ who there were—who they used to be. Not one of the goblins looked like they were having fun.

"Pan!" she shouted. "Stop it!"

Pan kicked a spear out of a goblin's hands and then faced her. He was smiling, but it was uneven and weak. "Lola, I'm fighting _goblins_."

"Do they look like they're having fun?" Lola accused. She marched into the centre of the circle. She saw one goblin holding a hand on a bleeding shoulder. "Look at the poor boy." Lola moved to the goblin and reached out—but the injured goblin slapped her hand away. His eyes were wide as plates. His fingers were shaking. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

The injured goblin lowered his hand. Lola examined the cut. It wasn't deep and the bleeding was slowing. She wasn't sure what she should do. She wasn't medically trained for humans, never mind goblins. Before she could find something to wrap it with—the only thing she thought she could do—Pan grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him.

"He's a monster," he said. "Monsters aren't supposed to have fun." His eyes narrowed. "Heroes fight them."

Lola shook his hand off. "You're not a hero, Pan. You're a bully."

The goblins behind Pan grunted. They made syllabic sounds but it wasn't a language that made sense to Lola. Pan spun and faced the muttering goblins. He glared and they were quiet. They were made breathing statues.

"They don't want to be monsters," Lola said. "They want to go home. I saw their tree house. They built Tinker Bell's cupboard, Pan." Lola exhaled sharply. There were thirteen goblins. That meant there were thirteen exiled children forced to fight someone they thought was their friend. "They were your Lost Boys."

Pan sheathed his sword. "So?"

Lola stood and jabbed a pointed finger into Pan's chest. "You did this to them. You promised them an adventure and then _you turned them into goblins_."

"They lied to me," Pan said. "Only grown ups and monsters lie." He pressed closer and whispered, "They wanted to leave. They're not Lost Boys anymore."

"You're not their father, Pan," Lola said hotly. She crossed her arms and glowered at the boy. "You can't decide where they go. You're not even their _friend_. You have _no_ say. They are allowed to decide where they go."

Pan stepped back. His eyes fell to the ground. "Father?"

Lola shrugged sharply. "Yeah, I was going to say 'you're not their _mother_ ' but since you're a boy that sassy saying doesn't really apply and ' _guardian_ ' isn't sassy at all—"

"Mother," a goblin said.

"Father," said another.

"Mother," said a third.

The little one with the teddy bear said, "Wendy."

Pan's face paled. His eyes were colourless. His wildfire hair flattened. The grass at his feet yellowed and the nearest trees shuddered and their leaves reddened. Lola's heart fluttered.

"Wendy," one of the goblins repeated.

Frost came. It spread out from Pan's feet and reached into the forest, freezing the trunk of the nearest trees. A passing butterfly dropped to the ground. A wing twitched and then it stopped. The trees dropped their leaves. The goblins squeaked and screeched and they ran back to their tree house to hide. Lola rubbed her naked arms. She curled her toes. The edge of the forest was transformed from summer to winter in an instant.

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 **AUTHOR: Reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading!**


	18. Strolling Through the Fairy Ring

**Chapter 17: Strolling Through the Fairy Rings**

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"Who is Wendy?" Lola asked.

The frost began to thaw. Pan's chin rose. His eyes hadn't regained colour, but the air was warmer. Lola half expected Pan to say Wendy was nobody, or that Lola should forget she'd ever heard the name because it wasn't fun.

"She was the Lost Boys' mother," Pan said. His voice was quiet. She had to step closer to hear him better. "She told us stories. Then she wanted to grow up."

"What happened to her?" A lump swelled in Lola's throat. She'd heard this story, but not from him.

"I didn't want her to forget me," he said.

A minute went by without Pan saying anything. Lola didn't care if he did say more. She had heard what she needed to know. Lola thought of Pan's note— _I will come back for your stories_. Wendy had played house, told stories, acted as the lost boys' mother. Maybe it had reminded her too much of what she was giving up and that's why she decided to grow up. Pan had wanted her to stay, and it was exactly like Hiccup and Green had said. Wendy never left Neverland.

"Wendy…Moira Angela Darling," he said. He closed his eyes a moment, trapping a portrait behind his eyelids. He sniffled, rubbed his eyes, and blinked until his eyes were clear.

" _Darling_?" Lola almost choked. There were Darlings on her Nana's side. Was Wendy a long-lost relative? Lola tried to think of all the stories Nana had told her about their family. She'd never mentioned someone named Wendy going missing—or kidnapped by a mysterious flying boy. Was Wendy and her brothers the reason Nana had said never to follow the guiding star to Neverland?

Colour returned to Pan's eyes. He flew directly up.

"Pan, wait, where…?" Lola watched him turn and fly away. "Are you leaving me?" She waved and ran after him. She ran into the field of frostbitten grass. Her chase lasted less than a few feet. He was headed back to the tree-town and his flying was fast. There was no way she'd catch him. She'd have to find her own way.

From ground level it was difficult to find her bearings. She knew which way the Mermaid Lagoon was—behind her, but more left. Pan had flown them from the Glittering East Towers to the lagoon. The towers were on the opposite side of the island if she wanted to find the Lost Boys' tree-town—which she did. No way was she trusting that Jenson and Mason wouldn't be turned into goblins. Lola scanned around. She could see the shining tips of the Glittering East Towers. She stood with her back to them and adjusted until the lagoon was at her absolute left. If she continued straight she would either hit the Lost Boys' home or Pirate Cove. She knew she could make it back to the tree-town from Pirate Cove. Either way her trajectory depended on her following a straight line.

Lola had never been on a long walking trip. She'd walked long distances by city standards, but she'd never hiked through woods or through glens for more than an hour. The island was huge. If time passed normally—which she wasn't sure it would—she probably wouldn't make it back before nightfall. She'd seen goblins and mermaids, but what other creatures were waiting between her and the Lost Boys? Not to mention she was wearing slipper-socks. The bottoms were grey-black from walking already. They weren't made for outdoors. How long before they wore through and she was barefoot? She wasn't dressed for cross-island trekking. She had on light sweatpants and a t-shirt. She was in lounging clothes and _not_ adventure clothes. She took a breath. At least she had on pants; Mason only had pajama shorts.

Lola rolled her sweatpants up from her ankles and used the spare hair-tie from her wrist. The air was summery again and the exercise was going to make her sweat enough without having her hair curtain steaming her neck. She started out with an even but up-tempo pace. She crossed the field with no problems. She found a stream with a lot of shrubbery around. The stream followed beside her for an hour and it was pleasant company. Her pace slowed and she watched her watery companion. It was clear with silver and pink fish jumping up and diving over the dips and turns. The softly tinkling stream curved away from her eventually and she was sad to see it go. The stream went left into a glen with small clumps of flowers. Lola had to continue straight.

The field in front of her had small mounds crowned with flowers and mushrooms grew in connecting pathways. Some of the mushrooms were one colour—blues and reds and browns—while others looked like tie-dye or a canvas that was paint-splattered. Lola followed these tie-dye patterns of mushrooms. They would form into a circle around small hills. There were doll-sized doors in the hills. Some were round, some were Victorian double-doors, and some were a mosaic of stones. Lola wondered if she knocked, would one of Tinker Bell's relatives answer the door?

Lola was curious. She hopped inside the ring of tie-dye mushrooms and knocked on the mosaic door. No one answered. Lola knocked again. There were no windows; no one had peeked through curtains and decided not to answer. Maybe no one was home. Lola turned and walked to the ring of mushrooms. She stepped but she didn't move. Lola reached but her hand was blocked. She traced the invisible force with her fingers. She followed it around the hill. It was springy, like a net, but strong. She couldn't step out of the mushroom ring.

Lola paced around the hill twice, trying to punch or kick her way out. She couldn't find a weak spot. She scowled and faced the hill. The door was bigger than before. Lola leaned back into the invisible wall. The hill was bigger too. Lola walked around the hill again. It was a longer trip. She looked at the moss and grass that had been crushed under her feet. She saw some remnants of her footprints and measured her feet next to them. Her feet were smaller. It wasn't the hill growing; she was shrinking.

Lola climbed up the hill to the door. She was a perfect fit. She was doll-sized—Tinker Bell sized. She knocked on the door again. The mosaic rumbled. The door rolled aside.

There was a village inside the hill. The dome of the hill had layers of shimmering flowers and floating spores lit like bulbs. Small houses made of twigs, mud, and leaves made rows and rows. At the centre of the hill was a tower made of the same mosaic of stones as the door. There were pixies everywhere. Winged men, women, and children gleamed every colour of the rainbow. How big their eyes were compared to their pointed faces! They each glowed one colour at a time, but the colour of their eyes was constant and individual. Some of them were dressed casually with shorts or skirts; some of the men didn't bother to wear shirts. Some of them were dressed like they were ready to attend a ball. The dresses were waterfalls of laced fabric and the men wore suits with long trains with embroidery. Lola was mesmerized. She walked into the pixie village.

The mosaic door rolled closed. Lola whipped around. She tried to push it open. She mumbled a curse at herself. She knocked and knocked. "Open up! I don't want to live here! I just wanted to see…!"

"Excuse me, human girl."

Lola stopped knocking. She glanced over her shoulder. A crowd had gathered. Lola put her back against the mosaic door. As far as she could see, even beyond the crowd, every pixie had stopped to stare at her.

The pixie that had spoken to her stood a few paces—no, _flew_ a few paces in front of the crowd. The pixie's skin was faintly blue with short scraggly hair and baggy clothes. Lola noted there was a crest woven into the shirt and the hem of the shorts had elaborate goldthread embroidery. Lola stared wide-eyed at the pixies with her mouth hanging open.

"Girl," the pixie said. "Are you stupid or are you deaf?"

"Neither," Lola said. She stepped away from the door. "How come I can understand you—Tinker Bell only made, sort of, bell sounds."

The fairies gasped at the mention of the name. The blue one in front waved them back. The farthest started to go about their day, but that didn't stop them from stealing glances at her. The blue one flew closer and landed an arm's length from Lola.

"You met Tinker Bell," the pixie said.

"Is something wrong with that…?" Lola's brows pinched.

"You're a living girl," the pixie observed. "You're the new lost girl."

Lola crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders nervously. "I guess I was. Now I'm not sure."

"Blinker." The blue pixie fluttered her wings.

Lola smiled weakly. "That's your name?"

The pixie nodded.

"Lola."

Blinker fluttered into the air and grabbed Lola's wrist. "Lola, you must meet with the queen." He jerked Lola forward. "Come with me."

Once again Lola found that fairies were much stronger than they looked. Blinker was able to tug Lola behind him without resistance. Lola had tried to pull back, but her heels only dragged in the dirt. She decided cooperating would extend the life of her slippers. Lola was going to meet the fairy queen.

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 **AUTHOR: I had a reviewer ask how there could be a Gwendolyn Darling _who was Lola's ancestor_ and yet Wendy was trapped in Neverland. Answer-Gwen and Wendy Darling are _not_ the same person. Wendy is trapped in Neverland. Lola isn't _directly_ a descendent but she is related to Wendy-because of Gwen. That's all I'm going to say. I hope that helps!**

 **Reviews are welcome.**


	19. Blink and You'll Miss It

**Chapter 18: Blink and You'll Miss It**

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The fairy queen's castle was wood. Towers, wide staircases and walls made from warm, cinnamon brown wood, grown and pruned into the structure. Chandeliers were bundles of violets with little glow bugs fluttering around them. Blinker fluttered in a hurry, not giving Lola much time to gape, but gape she did. The circular opening was wide and lead into a hollow hall. The hall was wide enough to host all of the mound's winged inhabitants. Lola hesitated a moment a few steps in, to spun in a slow, uneven circle, imagining the glittering court and the jingling laughter. In the centre of the hollowed hall was a winding staircase that went up and up. There were branches—literally—leading off to form levels of the castle. Blinker easily flew up beside the staircase but Lola had to run up the stairs to match Blinker's pace. Blinker paused once when she noticed how far behind Lola was, muttered something about "the inadequacy of humans", and sat on the thin, braided handrail. Lola stood a moment, half-pretending to be in awe of the room she saw at the end of a branch and half catching her breath. The design of the castle was starting to remind Lola of a beehive. Instead of honeycombs the nooks and room were designed from the root rather than carved out. Everything was winding and warm. The room Lola could see into had another violet-chandelier and seemed to be a sitting room. There was furniture made from dandelion fluff and rose petals. On a mushroom-table was an open book. For a second Lola wondered why it looked so much like an ordinary book when everything else was made natural, unaltered, but paper was made from trees. Maybe the pixies didn't treat it with chemicals as humans did, but it wasn't that odd that a little pixie meddling would create pretty pages. She wondered if it crinkled like Birchwood bark or if it was soft like the paper she was familiar with.

Blinker had enough of Lola's gaping, called her slow—and implied it was about more than her speed—and flew up. Lola reluctantly turned away from the curious room and followed Blinker. Blinker didn't zoom away this time. He let Lola follow with a steady jog instead of a breathless run up the stairs.

The stairs reached an arched ceiling. A floor closed in on the stairs, forming an opening only big enough for the stairs to peek through. Lola stepped off the last step into what was unequivocally the greatest room she'd ever been in. She'd seen images of royal throne rooms and she'd sketched a few variations, but being there in person made her heart pound.

There were two rows of kaleidoscope pools. They were shaped like seven-pointed stars, but with softened, curved corners. The ceiling had flower chandeliers, petals of deep red, black lilies, and baby's-breath with gold stems. The glow bugs were dim, almost sleepy, but there were so many Lola had no trouble seeing. The colours reflected in the pools didn't match the colours of the chandeliers. The images were shattered geometric shapes, pivoting and changing. Lola couldn't make sense of the images she saw in the pools. When she looked away from one kaleidoscope pool she'd hear it whisper. When she looked back the pools were silent. The walls had spirals and artistic knots of branches and multiple shades of green sprouts. There was a centre aisle between the two rows that was paved with large curved shells. The shells were like red pearls, a shimmering rainbow found ways around the deep red. Lola stepped on one and heard a faint hum. She stepped on another and carefully listened for another hum. It was a different note. She stepped on a third. The red shell aisle was a path of notes.

The shells and the knotted branches met at the end of the room. Together they wove into a large throne. Thorns and blooms of violet sprung through the woven throne. It was large enough to fit three pixies in the seat, but there only sat one. Her dress was like moonlight. The train was long, flowing from behind her and reaching out alongside the two nearest kaleidoscope pools. Her skin was dark. Her body was long, thin, and sharp. Her hair was coal black, her curls pooling behind her shoulders and falling over her throne. She wore a crown of gold branches with two upshots like antlers. Her eyes were the same gold as her crown.

Blinker settled down a few feet from the fairy queen's feet and kneeled. "Most beautiful majesty," he said. "This is the girl the eternal child brought to Neverland." Blinker looked over his shoulder and waved Lola forward, his squinting eyes urging her to hurry.

Lola hurriedly, but with as much grace as she could muster, crossed the shell aisle. She kneeled beside Blinker and bowed her head.

The fairy queen smiled. "What name do they call you, human girl?" Her voice was deep, but with the sweetness, like rich honey and almond milk. It reminded Lola of early morning curled inside warm bed-sheets. The queen's gentle smile had the fondness of someone familiar.

"Lola." She bowed her head deeper and thankfully remembered to add, "Your majesty."

"Do you know how long you've been in Neverland?" the queen inquired.

"Not long," Lola said quickly. She frowned. She hadn't spent a night yet. "A few hours, maybe a quarter of a day."

Blinker made a gasp like a sharp note on a violin. The queen raised her fingers from her throne's armrests and Blinker held still. "It has been three days."

Lola's neck and shoulders tightened. She raised one knee for a moment, but caught Blinker's squinting at her. Lola resumed her respectful kneeling. "There hasn't been a sunset. And I think I'd notice if more than a day went by—I'd probably fall asleep."

"Neverland is not like most worlds," the fairy queen said, her smile waning. "It is that child who decides if there is night. Because he desires endless fun, there is no need for tiredness. You will never need sleep. Because no human child can change in Neverland, never grow old, never grow tired—they never notice that there is time in Neverland. It is not the same time as other worlds, but it is time. It is already morning in your home world, Lola. The third morning."

Lola's knee rose. "But P—but _he_ promised no one would notice we'd be gone. He said we'd be back before anyone would notice." The comfort the queen's voice gave her wasn't enough to calm the shaking beginning. She bit her lip. She felt stupid saying it out loud. He'd promised. _He'd promised_? Pan had his own way of thinking. Maybe he'd meant it when he'd said it. Maybe he'd knowingly lied.

"He wanted you to come," the queen said tonelessly. Her chin raised an inch. The chandelier light cast a dark shadow down her throat. She raised a hand to her temple, weaving a finger around a ringlet, and a shadow followed long with her hand. Her nails were long and sharp. "The eternal child said what he could to make you come. It did not matter to him if it sounded like a promise. He only heard you say _yes_." The queen cast out her hand and the pool closest to Lola rippled. The colours formed into shapes, first out of focus and then Lola recognized her parents. They were in the living room and someone was taking notes. Lola's heart skipped. Her parents were reporting their missing children. Had she really been gone that long already?

Lola stood. "I have to go home." She looked away from the pool before the scene could make her cry. "I have to find Jensen and Mason and"—she glanced between Blinker and the queen with her mouth popped open for half a second—"you wouldn't have some pixie dust you could spare…?"

The queen laughed deeply. She folded her hands together. "Blinker." The pixie shot to her feet. "Lola will need pixie dust."

"But—your majesty—she is a human…" Blinker's lip trembled. There seemed to be more to his argument, but instead of speaking he and the queen stared at each other for a minute. Blinker's wings twitched and his knees shook. The queen's gentle smile was gone. She stared at him, clearly not amused. Whatever rule she was breaking mattered to Blinker—but what mattered more was that she was the queen. Being queen trumped the rules. Blinker finally nodded and dejectedly flew away. The queen watched him go for a moment and then turned her warm smile towards Lola.

"Generally we do not allows humans access to our most precious gift," she explained. "Ordinarily I would not allow even a girl in need our pixie dust, but we are about to agree to a trade."

Lola winced. "A trade?" She knew making deals with strangers—even if they were royalty—was rarely a wise decision.

"The eternal child must be killed."

Lola paled. She kneeled again, more to keep herself from stumbling than to show respect. "A mermaid told me the same thing."

The queen's hands unfolded and she brought a hand to her chin, highlighting the distraught downturn of her face. "There was a time I could say no one would wish him anything but infinitely happy—save the pirates—but that was before Wendy. Now the eternal child is as sick as I am."

Lola frowned and raised a brow. The queen caught this and smiled weakly. "I know I seem well, but would you believe that I cannot leave this throne?" She reached a hand behind her back and pulled on some sheer lace. Except it wasn't lace. Lola's throat dried and her face paled. The realization made her sick. How stupid she was not to notice that the queen had no wings. What was left was a disintegrating sheet. There was hardly enough left to hold between her fingers. "As queen I had the priveledge of the most beautiful wings in Neverland. Now this…"—her fingers released the pitiful remnants and her eyelids fluttered, drying the start of tears—"I have only days left. Once my wings are gone this body will fade until even the memory of me is dead. No one will know I existed. That is how a fairy dies."

Lola fisted her hands. She'd met the fairy queen less than a minute before but she felt like she'd known her for years—like a second mother she'd only known in dreams. And Pan was killing her. "If you die…what happens to the pixies?"

She frowned and looked out at the pools. "One by one, the same thing will happen to them. It will happen slowly, but soon even his precious pixie dust will be gone. There will be none alive to make it. When the pixie dust is gone, our home will disappear. When there is no home, no pixie can be born." The queen's eyelids fluttered and she waved another pool to show the image of a newborn human. "The death of my kind will reach your world and you will know it when laughter dies. A pixie is born from a baby's first laugh. The disappearance of our home will trap that first laughter, changing your world in ways that even I cannot predict."

"Does he know?" Lola touched her hand to her throat. The gem golems were born from the spark of invention. Pixies were born from a baby's first laugh. Neverland worked in ways Lola couldn't begin to understand. How many things would be destroyed if Pan selfishly held Neverland hostage?

"He forgets," she said with an angry, mocking grin. "The boy does not like to think of sad things. The horrible truth is that the one thing he should forget—the one thing to save Neverland—is what is killing us now."

"Wendy," Lola said. "If he dies it's like a reset button. He'll forget he's brokenhearted and you and everyone n Neverland will be okay again."

"Yes." The queen reached out her hand and waved Lola up.

Lola stood and, as beckoned, approached the throne. The queen took Lola's hand in hers and held it gently. "You are an outsider," the queen said quietly. "There are rules that cannot be broken—the reason this place is called Neverland—there are things that can _never_ happen. You are the only one who is exception to that. You can kill what cannot die."

Lola felt her breathing quicken. She shook her head. She tried to step back but the queen's grip tightened. "I can't. I can't kill anyone! Never mind…him. I can't."

"It must be you," the queen ordered. Her smile became fierce. "I believe you can. I see power in you. You have stories within you—worlds in your eyes. You must take that power and make yourself stronger than you think you are. Or else…we all die."

"No pressure?" Lola laughed bitterly. She was having trouble breathing.

"Go to Captain Hook," the queen said. "If anyone can teach you how to kill the boy, he can. He will. Blinker has spoken with his servant Smee. He knows I am meant to send you."

Lola yanked her hand free. "You've been planning on me murdering someone before you even met me?"

"I planned the only way to save Neverland," she insisted. "If you do this, I promise you and your brothers—and every child the boy has poisoned—will return home."

Lola stilled. She thought of the goblins. How long as they been trapped in Neverland? Her parents already thought she was missing and she'd thought she'd been gone for a few hours. Some of the boys had clothes older than she was. Were their families still looking for them? How horrible to be homesick for years or decades. Lola was their one chance to free them from being monsters. She had to—temporarily—kill Pan. It was like a video game, really. She had to beat the final boss and that was the only way to help him. He'd restart once she won.

"Captain Hook can teach me?" Lola questioned. "Has he ever won? I don't mean to be a downer, but he did lose his hand…and that's not his first loss from what I've heard."

"Captain Hook loses because that is one of Neverland's rules; the pirates never win," the queen answered. "Even so there have been many times the captain has come quite close. With his knowledge and skill you can win."

Lola sighed. She crossed her arms. "I'm the _only_ one who can do this?"

Blinker came flying in with a bag of pixie dust as big as he was. Giddily he showed the queen his fast work. "Three month's work of pixie dust! This should do!"

"For a human that will last barely three days," the queen warned. "Be careful with it, Lola. Keep a happy thought in your mind, something strong and not a passing fancy, and it will last longer." Lola nodded. "Blinker will take you to Pirate Cove." Blinker agreed with a low bow and a nod. "Leave now. There is little time. Neverland worsens by the hour."

Lola bowed and then Blinker grabbed her by the hand. Blinker peppered some pixie dust over Lola and told her to get her happy thought ready. Lola blanked. She was too worried to remember a long lasting happy thought. She scrambled to find even a small happy thing. Saving her brothers. That was happy, right? She didn't feel lift-off. Maybe it had to be something tangible. Something she could recall with all five-senses. She thought of her first time flying. Being pushed through the window had been terrifying, but the moment after was like being a feather one the breeze or a shooting star. She imagined feeling that rush of freedom again. Her feet floated off the floor. Blinker tugged on her hand. Lola waved the queen goodbye and Blinker pulled Lola down. Lola didn't need the stairs this time and it was certainly faster to fly.

Pixies stopped and waved and wished her courage on her quest to save Neverland. They all had heard that their lives depended on her. Lola couldn't wave back. She stared at Blinker's back and let herself be dragged behind. In a minute Blinker's had flown Lola out of the pixie mound and without any of the trouble Lola's had slipped out of the fairy ring. Outside the fairy ring Lola regained her size. Blinker, despite being so small, easily had the strength to tug Lola. It was an amusing sight and Lola found herself smirking. The energy of her own smile was enough to shrink her dread. She was Neverland's only hope—if a certain pirate could teach her to defeat the legendary Pan.

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 **AUTHOR: Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome.**


	20. We're Rascals and Scoundrels

**Chapter 19: We're Rascals and Scoundrels, We're Villains**

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Pirate Cove was exactly how Lola remembered it—except for small traces of new damage. A few bandaged pirates were singing as they worked—and more than a few were drinking. Their singing wasn't joyful; it was resigned. Even those emptying rum bottles were unsmiling and lifeless. Now restored to full size Lola couldn't communicate with Blinker in the traditional sense, but when Lola asked, "Why is this happening?" Blinker wrote one word in the sand, "Pan." The arch of Blinker's thin, long brow made it clear that Lola should have known. Lola thought about explaining herself, that she meant why were the pirates being targeted so severely. The pirates' homes and their ships were a part of Pan's war game and from the feverish joy she'd seen on the Lost Boys' faces—and how the fever had infected her brothers—war was Pan's favourite game. But why did Pan target the pirates and not any other creature on the island? Did Pan hate the pirates that much?

No. It wasn't the pirates that drew Pan here again and again. Pan bored easily, and playing the same game again and again wasn't why he was interested in Pirate Cove. It was the scarlet-clad captain. He wasn't a toy to Pan—unlike so many others—he was an opponent. That was why the fairy queen thought the captain was the perfect teacher for Lola.

Finding Pirate Cove was the easiest thing she'd done in Neverland—by a large margin—but now that she was here there was harder problem. Blinker was a fine guide. He'd pointed out hidden traps Pan's boys had laid out for anyone unlucky to travel by foot. Lola would've been hanging upside by her ankles ten times over if Blinker wasn't with her. His charming bell-like chatter was comforting too. Lola considered herself lucky to have had Blinker as a guide, really, but now what? Blinker couldn't announce her arrival and tell the pirates she wasn't with Pan. He couldn't explain that the fairy queen had sent them and that the pirates should _not_ skewer Lola. Creeping over the hill that Pan had led her over once before, Lola felt lost.

"The fairy queen said that Captain Hook knew she'd send me, right?" Lola bit her lip and watched Blinker nod and helpless try to communicate more. Lola remembered how the captain had a curious gleam in his eyes when he watched her persuade Pan to leave the pirates alone. Had the queen's discussion with him taken place before or after that little war? If it was before, Hook might have second thoughts. Why would he trust some foreign girl who flew with Pan?

She didn't have a Plan B. If she'd had one, now would've been the time to jump ship and forget trying to parley with pirates. With one last stifled groan she crossed her fingers behind her back. She followed Blinker to the rocky beach. His excitement made him glow gold with tinges of dark purple webbing out and contracting—maybe a sign of his own uncertainty or maybe Lola hadn't figured out every colour of Blinker's mood-ring body.

Lola was a few meters from the edge of the town when someone noticed her. The balding pirate with a thin low ponytail walked in a curve and had a dark glass bottle in his hand. His clothes were worn and some of the buttons were missing. He was also missing an eye—which was probably how she'd gotten close before he realized she was there. When his one eye spotted her he stopped. Well, he tried to stop, but his body swung out a moment before he got complete control. Then his feet shuffled back, boots gathered sand.

"Lost boy!" he slurred. He raised his empty-handed arm and waved wildly. "It's a lost boy! Pan's coming!"

Lola looked down at herself. Boy? She knew the pirate was drunk, but seriously? She was definitely female. She started to scowl and was about to shout the obvious fact of her subtle but definite curves when her wits came back to her. The drunken pirate was shouting for help—and he'd been heard.

The hustle was impressive. The women sewing on a front porch, the men in the tavern, the sailors on the docks, and the children knew exactly what to do before any instructions were given. Three of the sewing women tossed their work at the fourth and she hurried inside. One of the women went out to meet children running her way. The other two women had gone inside for weapons—one came out with an old, split oar and the other had a rusted sword. They joined the other woman to gather the children, bringing them inside. The sailors tied their last knots in a hurry, grabbed a free rope or weapon and rushed to shore. The men came over from the tavern. Although some of them wobbled, their determined faces were enough to help their aim true. Lola hoped the raised-arms symbol for surrender was recognized in Neverland. She stopped moving and waited for the pirates to approach her. They did. They surrounded her. While they did keep eyes on her, it was only brief glances to make sure she hadn't moved. Their eyes were more often on the sky and the hills around. They were afraid she hadn't come alone.

Blinker swooped in figures around her. Some of the pirates had clued into the fact he was talking to them. None of them spoke pixie. The synchronized display had numbed Lola's tongue. She knew that Blinker's attempts to explain were hopeless. She was the only one who could say why she'd come. She swallowed. The movement helped. She searched the faces for someone who might be in charge. She needed someone who would bring her to Hook—alive.

"I'm not a lost boy," she said.

The pirates growled at her. Some laughed bitterly. They were talking amongst themselves. Half of them were calling her names like liar, lily-livered, blowfish, and a few more she was disgusted by. She hoped someone had covered the children's ears. She tried to shout over them—she tried to get the words out but the noise was like being sucked under waves. Each outcry of rage made another pirate brave enough to join with his or her own shout. No one would listen when she said the fairy queen sent her. Her words were stifled under the crushing weight of waves. If it were one or two or even five people she might have had the chance to bite back at them with a sarcastic comment or even a soliloquy about how to treat a girl with human dignity. But there were more than twenty people spewing their hatred, blaming her for vile deeds.

It wasn't the first time Lola had faced a group of bullies. When she was little she'd hadn't kept what she saw to herself. Sometimes she'd accidentally react to the shadows and people would stare at her strangely and she'd hear the things they whispered as they walked away. She'd been bullied in school, mostly typical things. Some of the girls called her strange. A school mate she'd once warned about his grandfather's shadow following him often called her retarded and sometimes positioned himself at corners to trip her when she passed. The first few times she'd done exactly what her parents taught her—with her own flare added. She told him to stop and she told him exactly what happened to baby-faced pig-nosed weasels that didn't know how to treat a girl. After that—and a confusing trip to the headmistress' office that resulted in her being told to treat others with respect—she didn't let little bullies bother her. She let them call her names or laugh at her. She ignored them.

Pirates weren't like snickering children. The pirates weren't calling her names to hide their own insecurities or because they were bored. There were at least twenty swords jabbing in her direction. The circle was shrinking. If she didn't say something to convince them she would have more blood on her outside than her inside. Her hands were shaking. She heard herself gasp as gleaming silver poked her shoulder. She jerked away. The circle had shrunk again. They were all close enough to slice her with one short swing. Any one of them could do it. Her eyes blurred with sudden tears. She drew her arms close, breathing shallow, feet planted side by side, and knees locked from fear. She wanted to scream.

Blinker's bell-voice was frantic. The pitch was painful. The pirates started shouting at Blinker to fly off or he'd be next. Next! They were going to kill her. She almost dropped to her knees, so close to curling into herself, to hide every inch of her that she could. She knew it wouldn't be enough to save her but she couldn't felt the will of her own body. She heard herself whisper, "Please." She wasn't brave. How silly she was. All those years drawing adventures on pages and now she was in a real storybook moment. She wasn't a storybook heroine. She was afraid.

"Alright ye slovenly, scurvy, sea dogs!" The shout silenced the circle. Lola stopped whispering her plea and quietly, keeping her breathing shallow and so very _quiet_ , she listened.

A second voice, this one much older shouted, "Move aside you flea ridden sloths! The last one in the Captain's way will be dancing with the mermaids tonight. Unless you lousy lot have learned how to breathe underwater, I suggest you learn some discipline."

With the gruff warning the circled parted. Lola was on her knees. She had enough courage to wipe her cheeks, sniffle, and swallowed the last of her whimpering. She couldn't stand yet. Her eyes went were all the eyes went. The riotous circle opened into a horseshoe Captain Hook walked through.

He stood far enough that Lola didn't have to crane her neck back, but close enough the fading sun cast his shadow over her. With the golden light behind him the scarlet of his coat and feathered hat seemed to blend in—like the sun shone through him. Maybe it was because he stopped the crazed pirates with a simple appearance, or maybe it was the cunning, but jovial expression he wore, but Lola had never be awed by a single person like she was awed by Captain Hook. She understood why the fairy queen thought he could teach her to defeat Pan. She understood why Pan chose him as his sworn enemy. Every inch of the captain was as regal as a fairytale prince. His composure was the same—like he could battle sea monsters and climb towers without tearing a seam or losing a button. But then there were his eyes. His eyes were the blue of crystal-like tropical waters. Clear as his eyes were, they were more like a mirror than a window. They certainly weren't windows to his soul—if he even had one. Lola didn't have to look into his eyes long before she knew this was a man whose greatest joy was being the villain.

That simple truth evaporated Lola's fear. All of Neverland was crumbling because of Pan. The fairy queen was dying. The Lost Boys were becoming goblins. No one was safe from the changes. As much Captain Hook lived to be the villain, he couldn't be. Pan was the villain of the story. That left no place for Hook—unless he was the hero.

Hook's eyes searched her. He'd been grinning when he'd seen her cowering, but now that she knew what he was, he was disappointed. She stood straight and looked at him with dry eyes. His eyes lifted to the crowd. His arms gestured when he spoke and from the occasional quirk of his lips it was clear he particularly liked gesturing with his hook. He liked the way the gathered crowd eyed it with a mix of respect and discomfort.

"The number of offenses committed with this little exercise are very disappointing," he said. Some of the men hung their heads. Everyone lowered or sheathed their weapons. "Who called his name?"

The crowd breathed in unison. A half second later everyone stepped back—except the drunken pirate who had noticed me. He wasn't surprised he'd been given up. He seemed to accept that if they hadn't stepped back he would've stepped forward. Hook went towards the man with casual but firm footfalls. When he reached the man he put his arm over his shoulder, the tip of his hook close to the man's cheek, an inch below his one good eye.

"What is the law?" Hook asked nonchalantly.

The pirate's mouth quivered. His bottle—still in hand—sloshed from shaking. "Don't say the devil's name or he'll come."

"That's it," Hook agreed. He glanced around the crowd, his piercing eyes encouraging them to all nod their heads. They did. "Do you know who this girl is?"

The drunken pirate looked at Lola. Lola stared back at him. Lola frowned and the pirate looked back at Hook. Lola and the drunken pirate were both very confused by Hook's question.

"I don't know who she is either," Hook said with a laugh. He looked over his crowd and they laughed too. The drunken pirated started to laugh. "But…I do know, she's not _him_." The laughter faded. Grim faces replaced the moment. The drunken pirate closed his eyes and tightened his hand around the bottleneck. "You saw one girl. One _girl_." Hook stepped away from the pirate. The crowd held their breath. "For your mistake—not to mention incorrectly calling this girl a lost _boy_ —punishment is necessary. However,"—he crossed his arms behind her back, his hand holding the wrist of his hooked hand—"you were the first to notice the intruder and that deserves commendation. For that your punishment will be reduced. The tavern will not allow you admittance for two days." The drunken pirate almost dropped his bottle—but he grabbed it with his other hand and watched it like it was the last of it in the world. "Also, you have lost your place on my ship. Mr. Smee, please promote…whoever was next on the list."

Mr. Smee—scratching his grungy Santa beard—whistled at a young man in the crowd. "Zachary, you've been promoted."

A young man with tight curly red hair—not much older than Jensen—grinned. A few men clapped him on the back. The drunken pirate moved to the back of the crowd, too ashamed to be in plain sight.

"Onto my next disappointment," Hook said. He raised his arm out straight and it went to the bell that Lola had heard ringing when Pan had attacked Pirate Cove. "Who ran for the warning bell?" Eyes dropped in the crowd. Others shook their head shamefully. "Not one man considered that there might be someone who could not hear the warning. There might be men on the ships or women in the cellars. What if there was a child somewhere in town or in the water who hadn't heard?" Hook dropped his arm. There was tightness in his normally smooth voice.

"That's why I suggested a schedule, Captain," Mr. Smee said. He grinned. The way he nodded at the crowd was definitely bragging. "Two men at dawn, change over at noon, change at dusk. Easy to remember." He crossed his arms over his round belly.

Hook's expression flattened. He set a hand on his hip and frowned at Smee. Some of the crowd rolled their eyes. Whatever respect the Scarlet Captain had was not shared with his first mate. Smee raised a hand and smiled apologetically at Hook. Lola wasn't sure how to react to this town meeting, but the way they crowd responded to Smee was infectious. There was lightness to the feel of the crowd now. Even Hook had warmed.

"Unfortunately I am forced to acknowledge that Mr. Smee's suggestion is a good one," Hooks said. He smirked. The crowed chuckled. Smee pretended to scowl, but the brightness of his eyes contradicted.

Lola's jaw dropped. It was an act: the pirates pretending to be foul-mouthed scourges, Mr. Smee as an old fool, and Hook as the villain—Pirate Cove was a play. The pirates were a theatrical company, acting their parts whenever there was an audience. They only sang and let their worries show when no one was around to witness it. What Lola was seeing now was a slip, an improvisation. Pan's Neverland was full of games and tricks. Why shouldn't the pirates be a jovial act?

"Since Mr. Thompson has some free time I'm certain he would volunteer for the new position," Hook said, his voice more relaxed than before. The role of awe-inspiring captain was forgotten. Even the villainy in his eyes had been changed into something smaller. "Be at the bell at dusk, Mr. Thompson."

"Aye, Captain!"

"Finally I must address the last committed offense," Hook shouted. He smirked and he winked at Smee. "Bad form."

The crowd muttered amongst themselves with a sudden understanding. Lola didn't get it. If Hook meant fighting form, they'd looked good to her. Hook approached her and offered his hand to her. "Our sincerest apologies, Miss," he said, his voice smooth again. "Attacking a young lady alone is considerably deplorable. Attacking an _unarmed_ woman alone…" He gripped her arm by her elbow when she didn't take his hand. "Very bad form. Miss…we will make amends for this dishonourable action." He dipped his head and crossed his hook over his chest.

Lola stepped back and curled her arm in, away from him. "If you really mean that…" Hook's head raised and his brows scrunched quizzically. "Then you will agree to speak with me alone." Blinker landed on her shoulder and he patted her cheek. It was reminiscent of a high-five. It gave her the courage to smile. "The fairy queen sent me to meet with you, Captain Hook."

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 **AUTHOR: Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome.  
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 **PS The title comes from Disney's _Pirates of the Caribbean_ ride _._**


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